


Tell Me Your Secrets

by WinchesterPooja (chronic_potterphile)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Drama, F/M, Gen, Grief, Hindu Mythology - Freeform, Hinduism, Season 8, Sexual Situations, Swearing, Trials, case!fic, gratuitous Sammy torture, religious ideologies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronic_potterphile/pseuds/WinchesterPooja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam activates his Winchester luck by inadvertently touching some cursed bones. Dean is left with the task of rescuing his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> About the pairings: This is gen and has virtually no pairings, barring a tiny bit of Sam/Jess and Dean/OFC.
> 
> Warnings: Sexual situations — not explicit, but can be perceived as dub con in a way, so please tread carefully, swearing, gratuitous Sam torture, and major character death which is different from regular character deaths in a way that I cannot explain
> 
> This fic was written for the following prompt at the ohsam challenge by indiachick: "Ill-from-the-Trials Sam finds bones in a room in the bunker while doing inventory. Not thinking much of it, he burns them. Naturally, if they were for burning, they would've been burned long back and not wrapped in a bundle and put in a box with a big scary seal on it. Gen, slash- no problem." I went with gen and very much enjoyed writing for this prompt, I must say. :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise. I wouldn't be writing fanfiction if I did.
> 
> Acknowledgements: Okay, before I begin, there are several people I need to thank. First of all, a huge, gigantic thank-you to indiachick for the amazing prompt, which caught my eyes immediately. I knew I wanted to write it the moment I saw it. :D
> 
> Also, my beta, walking_tornado, who was awesome, professional and quick, and who made my manuscripts so much better with all the amazing inputs, suggestions and ideas. Also, I loved all the reassurances when I wasn't sure of myself, and it all added up to having a perfect beta.  
> Thank you! Without you, this story would have been awful — I'm sure of it!
> 
> Then there's Nadia, my beautiful sis, who's not in the fandom, and yet, is a constant source of encouragement. I love that I can always whine and rant to her, no matter what. Reading the Harry Potter books couldn't have given me a better gift. :)
> 
> And last, but not the least, thank you, THANK YOU, ratherastory and quickreaver, the mods of ohsam, for the challenge, and also for granting me a much-needed extension! You guys are awesome. :D
> 
> Notes: So this is probably the first multi-chaptered SPN story that I've completed. *lets out a breath* Should I be nervous? Probably. Hehe.
> 
> Anyway. This thing was the best and the worst thing to write. I love it, hate it, and have a number of emotions towards it, but I'm just hoping, mostly, that it's okay. :) The fic has five parts and a prologue and an epilogue, and I'm hoping they're all right!
> 
> Please read the warnings carefully before you proceed from here. It is still PG-13, because nothing I've written is that heavy, but I still don't want to upset anyone. Also, this fic includes some religious ideology, but no religion has been treated badly, or bashed. I respect everyone's beliefs.
> 
> Also, I do not apologise for all the Harry Potter terminology you might find in the fic. :p The religious concepts used in this fic can be found in the end notes. :)

 

 

 

**Prologue**

**_Somewhere in the Dwapara Yuga_**  
 ** _(Millions of years ago)_**  
  
The wind wails around her and brings grains of sand and tiny leaves with it. Her skirts, her hair billow about, but she pays no attention to this. She struggles to stand.  Her eyes blink against both the bright light before her and the wind.  _He_ , however, remains undeterred in front of her, unharmed by the wind. The light comes from him and he gives off a heavenly smell — a smell which reminds her of freshly cut grass and lemon.  
  
She takes in the sweet scent as she watches his long dreadlocks, some gathered in a bun on the top of his head, but the others scattered, hanging down his shoulders and reaching his elbows. His dark eyes are wide, compassionate, and he smiles as he speaks to her.  
  
 _Ask, child._  
  
His voice is low and rumbling, and it resonates from the depths of his blue-stained throat. She has heard stories—legends—of why his throat is blue, and she has also heard the truth, but looking at him this way only brings her more respect for him. She suddenly remembers every reason she chose to worship him and why she chose to work hard to please him.  
  
Her whole body is stiff, aching from being in one position for too long, but the mere sight of him relieves it all. She is unable to speak. Instead, she just looks at the tall, bright form in front of her and listens to the perpetual sound of flowing water that he emanates and the mild hissing of his cobra, currently docile, but ready to strike. A rosary string dangles from one hand — the  _rudraksha_ —and in the other he carries a trident with an hourglass-shaped drum on the stalk.  
  
Nobody’s description of him is even half as magnificent as his true form.  
  
His face radiates serene beauty that brings tears to her eyes. How long has she been waiting for this moment? How much has she worked to please him? And now he’s here, and she can’t believe it. She finds it difficult to even form words.  
  
 _You have earned a wish_ , he says again.  _You have proven to be a true devotee._  
  
“My Lord…” she mumbles. She falls to her knees, and raising wet eyes to him, overwhelmed by it all. “I just…”  
  
 _My blessings are with you. Ask._  
  
She takes a deep breath. This is the moment. This is it. “The  _Panchamahabhuta_ ,” she whispers. “The five elements. I want control over it. I want control over it all.”  
  
He looks at her, smiles, and raises a palm to her bowed head.  
  
She breaks into sobs of gratitude.

 

 

 

**~o~**

  
_Kill her!_  they say.  _She’s a witch!_  they say.  
  
She laughs. A witch. Sure. She’s a  _witch_  who has seen  _their_  god. Pleased their god with her long, hard prayers. They don’t know that. They’re vermin — they can never know anything.  
  
 _She killed my son,_  sobs a woman.  _She’s an enchantress. A seductress!_  
  
“A seductress? Your son was the one who had no control over his lustful desires,” she laughs.   
  
She killed him because he was a danger to her survival, but no one can know that.  
  
They don’t leave it there. They find her house and set fire to it. They drag her out and set fire to her body.  
  
She screams as the hot flames lick her, blistering and sizzling against her skin. “You will die!” she shrieks. “You will all die!”  
  
They break into triumphant laughter. They slap each other on the backs, and she burns, watching them through half-destroyed eyes. And then she mutters in a low voice, through scalding lips:  
  
 _Shan cha meh, mayas cha meh, priyam cha meh, nu kamas cha meh…_  
  
They don’t hear it, but she doesn’t expect them to. Ignorant vermin.  
  
 _… soosha cha meh, sudhinam cha meh. Sadashivom._  
  
She finishes the prayer, and it’s her turn to laugh. She laughs not loudly, but in a low voice, before being silenced by the flames.  
  
But not forever.  
  
They can destroy her body, but they can never destroy her essence — her soul and her bones.  
  
 _Amartyatva dadaati meh. Give me immortality._  
  
She will kill them all.


	2. Chapter 2

 

**_  
_ **

****

  
**_2013_**  
  
 ** _Lebanon, Kansas_**  
  
Sam is tired. He glances at his laptop, which is now perpetually switched on, for any news from Kevin. After Kevin's last freak-out, Sam and Dean have decided to keep alert at all times, so the kid can have some assurance that they will go to his aid, should he run into any trouble. Sam sighs as he glances at the sheaf of papers before him, ready to be written on and filed. The large table holds all the items that he’s listing. He does inventory these days to while away his time until they can catch wind of another big hunt or to get information about the final trial. Dean helps sometimes, but mostly he’s just off sorting out small hunts on his own — simple salt-and-burn types of jobs, for which he doesn’t need Sam. Right now, though, Dean is out shopping for groceries.   
  
It’s not as if Sam is voluntarily staying back from those hunts, but Dean is stubborn and he is certain that Sam will need all his remaining energy for the final trial. Sam thinks he knows what the third trial is going to mean for his health, but he doesn’t voice his theory to Dean. He needs to finish this, and he can’t screw up again.  
  
There is still no wind of Castiel. Sam prays to him sometimes — requests him to be there for Dean, should things go south after the final trial — but he is not sure if the angel is listening.  
  
Sam picks up his pen to write about a mysterious gold cup with handles on both sides. He can’t find a file on it but it isn’t in a curse box, so he’s sure it’s not harmful to touch. But he knows it could be sinister in some other way, so he makes note of it anyway. It reminds him of Hufflepuff’s cup from the Harry Potter books and for a minute, he wonders if Harry Potter could really exist, like the other things that he and Dean had thought of as simple myths in the past, until they came face-to-face with the actual thing.  
  
It would be pretty cool to actually meet Harry Potter.  
  
As that thought comes and goes, Sam realises that he is cold. His head throbs and a cough tickles at his throat. Snatching a Kleenex from the box before him, he coughs into it and flicks it into the dustbin. The specks of blood on it aren’t new to Sam.  
  
Sam dry-coughs again, rubs his sleepy eyes, and decides to call it a day when the throbbing in his head increases a notch. He glances up at the other items in front of him, and notices a somewhat large cloth bag behind the cup. When he had hauled it out of a box in the storage room, the things inside it felt like bones and he made a mental note to open the bag and take a peek. Sam sighs. If they’re bones, they must be burned, and if they need to be burned, Sam wants to finish the task before going to sleep.  
  
He puts the loose papers inside a folder, and pulls the bag closer. The cloth is dirty-white in colour and there’s a large, black mark drawn on the side that Sam has seen on several other items in the bunker, but neither he nor Dean has deciphered what it means. The bag is stitched shut, so Sam extracts his penknife from his pocket and places the blade on the cotton, running it along the stitches so that the bag rips open.  
  
A whitish layer of dust flies out from the bag and Sam sneezes. He turns away, sneezes some more into the crook of his elbow, and looks back in. There is a pile of bones, just as he had expected.  
  
He wonders how come neither he nor Dean have encountered the spirit tied to these, but decides to burn them anyway. He bundles up the bag under his arm and walks outside to a small crematorium behind the bunker, specially built for these salt-and-burn rituals. The Men of Letters were pretty efficient that way.  
  
Sam doesn’t wait to watch the fire burn out — he leaves the room when the soot makes him start coughing again. A few minutes after he gets back to the library to round up everything, Dean returns with several bags of groceries, forbids Sam from sleeping without dinner, and rushes to the kitchen to start cooking.  
  
They eat soup and Dean’s homemade burgers, which Sam manages to wallop down despite not having much of an appetite. He gets into bed after that, and it’s a relief to lay his aching body under the sheets. He is feeling cold again so he extracts his comforter from the chest of drawers. He knows the symptoms and can feel a fever coming on. As he loses himself to sleep, he hopes that Dean won’t find out; the last thing Sam needs is to be babied.  
  
He doesn’t wake up the next day.

 

**~o~**

  
When Sam doesn’t wake up at his normal hour the next morning, Dean doesn’t worry at first. His brother is tired and sick, and he needs all the rest he can get, and Dean is glad that Sam is taking it easy for a day. So he makes breakfast, keeps some aside for Sam, and goes on to check for news on any hunts and on the third trial.  
  
He keeps himself busy for another couple of hours until about nine in the morning, but Sam still hasn’t woken up. Dean wonders if he should worry, but decides to give his sibling another hour.  
  
Two hours later, Sam is still asleep. Okay, Dean thinks, this has happened before and there’s probably no reason to worry, but he should really check on Sam. Something in his gut tells him that.   
  
So he gets to Sam’s room and knocks at the door. When his brother doesn’t answer he tries again, louder knocks this time, but there’s nothing. He swallows down a sudden pang of fear and opens the door.  
  
Sam is inside, cocooned up in blankets and a comforter. At first sight, it just looks like he’s blissfully asleep but when Dean looks closely, he notices that Sam’s face is red and sweaty.  
  
“Sammy?”  
  
His brother doesn’t so much as flinch at his name.  
  
Panic rising in him, Dean steps ahead, hesitates for a second, and lays the back of his palm to Sam’s forehead.   
  
The kid burns so hot, he could be on fire.  
  
“Sam!” Dean exclaims, alarmed. “Hey! Wake up!”  
  
Sam doesn’t respond, so Dean shakes his shoulder. “Sammy?” he calls out, his voice panicky, “Wake the fuck up, man.  _Now_!”  
  
It falls on deaf ears.  
  
“Shit, shit, shit, shitshitshit,” curses Dean as he reaches for the blankets and pulls them off Sam. “Couldn’t you have told me you were feeling this bad, you idiot?” he whispers to his brother, feeling the latter’s cheeks. The kid is definitely burning up.  
  
Dean runs out of the room, gets into the bathroom, and fills a small bucket with cold water as quickly as he can. On the way out, he grabs a hand towel and gets back to Sam’s room. He curses himself for not having a thermometer on him. They haven’t had those in a long time anyway — any bouts of fever they get are usually dealt with Tylenol, and there’s never forehead touching and pansy thermometers. They’ve never been ill enough to need all that — maybe sometimes as children, but not after they grew up.  
  
Dipping the cloth in the water, Dean wrings it and places it on Sam’s forehead, knowing his brother will hate it if he finds out. Well, Dean will kill himself before Sam finds out anyway, but he isn’t worried about that at this moment. Sam needs to wake up. Sam needs to be all right.  
  
After a while of wiping his brother’s face down, Dean decides it’s time to get some meds into him. Sam hasn’t so much as moved of his own accord, and Dean is very worried. He puts the cloth on the nightstand, puts his hands under Sam’s warm armpits and hauls him up to a semi-sitting position on the bed. Sam’s head starts lolling at that but Dean lifts his brother’s chin and tilts his head back, placing a pillow behind his neck to keep it that way.  
  
He shakes out two Tylenol, pries Sam’s mouth open and places them on this tongue. He puts the mouth of a water bottle to Sam’s lips after that, and the pills go down with the reflexive swallows. Sam lets out an involuntary cough and Dean hopes for a second — just for a second, that he’s awake, but he has no such luck. So he wipes down Sam’s face again and leaves the room to wait, deciding that if Sam doesn’t wake up in an hour, they’re visiting the hospital.  
  
Dean goes back to the library. The papers that Sam was writing on the night before are still on the table, and so are the items he had taken out to list. Dean recognises the off-white cloth bag on the table and remembers how it had something in it when Sam had pulled it out yesterday. Dean frowns and looks inside at the now empty bag, then at the black seal-like thing on it, and notices the item number.  
  
This thing already has a file on it. How didn’t Sam see that?  
  
Wondering what Sam did with whatever was inside the bag, Dean goes to extract the file. He brings it back to the library once he finds it, and starts flipping through it. The bag contained bones, he reads. The bones were brought to the Men of Letters in 1940 by a British engineer, who found them at a site they were digging up in a city called Ujjain in India, in order to lay the foundations of a new railway station.   
  
The Englishman had found that whenever someone from his excavation team touched the bones, they slipped into a deep sleep soon, and never woke up after that. A believer in the paranormal, he had contacted several people about this, and had finally been suggested the Men of Letters. So he brought the bones here, to the bunker. They survived every method of destruction, and intrigued, the Men of Letters had put them in a bag with a seal which means that the content inside isn’t to be touched.  
  
That’s how Dean discovers the meaning of that large, black seal on the bag. And if the bones are missing from inside…  
  
 _Please don’t have touched it, Sammy…_  
  
He opens the file again and goes through the symptoms experienced by everyone who had touched the bones. They all fell into a deep sleep, but no one had fever. That is all Sam’s, it seems, and it also explains why Sam didn’t pay proper attention to the number on the bag, or the file. He was sick. But that doesn’t make Dean worry less. He has read that the people who touched the bones never woke up from their siestas, and he’s not going to let that happen to his little brother. Sam is waking up.  
  
Dean goes to the crematorium and finds the bones on a heap of ashes, looking pristine. The fire hasn’t harmed them in any way — neither has the salt. He crouches and squints at the white pile before him, and they look human. The file identified them as such anyway — specifying that they belong to a woman whose ethnicity was Indian, but Dean has never known human bones to survive fire so well. He hasn’t known any kind of bone to survive fire like this.  
  
Did they belong to a humanoid creature, like a shapeshifter? Is the texture and composition different from normal skeletons?  
  
There’s only one person who can answer that second question, and he’s taking a long nap at this moment. According to the file, the victims died pretty soon (a few days) after touching the bones, so Dean doesn’t have much time to figure out a full-fledged rescue plan for his brother. However, he does have an idea that he thinks (hopes) might work.   
  
He gets back to Sam’s room, and when he feels Sam’s forehead again, his brother has cooled off a bit. Dean pulls the blankets back around Sam; he has made up his mind.  
  
It doesn’t take more than ten minutes to brew the African Dream Root tea. He comes back, plucks a few of Sam’s long hairs and adds them to his tea before drinking it all at once. The he downs a sleeping pill and lies down on his own bed.

 

**~o~**

  
Dean wakes up on his bed and for a moment, he thinks that the tea didn’t work. Then he remembers that time when he and Sam had gotten into Bobby’s head, after taking the Dream Root, and realises that it might have worked after all. But he needs to be sure. He sits up on his bed, before proceeding to the adjacent room — Sam’s room. Since this is Sam’s head, Sam should be close by.  
  
Just as Dean suspects, his brother is sitting on his own bed, with thoughtful eyes watching the door. He’s wearing different clothes from the ones that he wore to bed, and his hair seems neater. His gaze swivels over to Dean, and something about his face seems different, but Dean can’t put a finger on it.   
  
Sam smiles. “Hey.”  
  
“We’re in your head, Sam,” Dean replies, without returning the greeting. They don’t have time for niceties. They have to get out of this place.  
  
Sam nods slowly. “I know.”  
  
Dean’s eyebrows contract as a frown begins to decorate his face. “How?”  
  
“I just do.” When Dean still fails to understand, Sam stands up, crosses over the threshold, and looks back at his elder brother. “Come with me.”  
  
They make their way out of the bunker but as soon as Sam opens the door, Dean sees not his Impala and the road outside, but a vast expanse of green.  
  
They’re at the entrance to what looks a forest. Trees tower around them, their branches laden with deep green leaves and ripe fruits. Pure, golden sunlight streams down from the gaps between the leaves and it’s comfortably warm. Dean sniffs the air, and the scent of jasmines and eucalyptus reaches his nostrils. He can hear a brook or a stream somewhere: the water makes a tinkling sound as it flows. There’s shrubbery heavy with flowers and the floor of the woods is decorated with yellow and brown leaves, and with white flower petals.  
  
Dean isn’t the hugest appreciator of nature, but this is fucking beautiful. And then he remembers whose head he is in.  
  
He raises an eyebrow, and turns to Sam. “Nice dream, Sleeping Beauty.”  
  
“This isn’t my dream,” Sam explains. “This isn’t a dream at all.”  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
He shrugs. “Do you seriously think I have dreams like this after everything that we’ve been through?”  
  
Dean nods. “Good point. Do you know how to get out?”  
  
“I haven’t found a way yet.”  
  
“Well, we have to — soon, or you’ll be dead,” Dean says to him.  
  
 _“What?”_  
  
“Yeah,” he replies. “You know those bones you burned last night? Not for burning, dumbass. You weren’t supposed to touch them!” Dean is angry. How could Sam be so freaking careless? What if they don’t find a way out of this place now? Sam could die!  
  
“How do you know that?”  
  
“From the file.”  
  
“There was a file?”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes and doesn’t reply to that. “Never mind. We need to get out of here,” he says.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Let’s start walking and looking for whoever or whatever is screwing with you.”

 

**~o~**

  
Sam hasn’t felt so good in a while. He walks alongside Dean. Dried leaves crunch under their boots and twigs snap as they find their way through the thicket. A bird sings somewhere close to them, and a couple of parakeets with thoroughly green plumage and blood-red beaks fly out of a tree. Sam can’t figure out where they are. The evergreen trees, tropical flowers, fruits and birds tell him that they’re probably in a foreign land.  
  
“Those bones belonged to an Indian lady,” Dean says suddenly, pulling Sam out of his reverie. “They didn’t burn when you torched them.”  
  
“Really? They felt normal when I touched them. And how d’you know who they belonged to?”  
  
“The file.”  
  
Crap, how didn’t he see the freaking file? What was wrong with him? He sighs. The trials make him so tired and sick all the fucking time that he just wishes they could be finished already.   
  
The forest is never-ending, it seems. Sam and Dean walk for hours. When Sam's stomach starts to grumble, he turns to Dean, whose gut makes a similar sound.  
  
“Think we should stop for a while?” Sam asks him. “Eat something?”  
  
Dean rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know, Sam. You tired?”  
  
“No. Just hungry. I mean,” Sam shrugs at his surroundings, “this place doesn’t look too dangerous, man. Maybe it won’t be so bad if we take a break.”  
  
Dean tilts his head in amusement. “When haven’t looks been deceptive in our job, Sam?”  
  
Sam nods. “All right. But I think you’re hungry too. We should eat something.” He wipes off a drop of sweat from his forehead. It is noon, and the sun is directly overhead. It feels like August in Florida. “D’you think the food here will relieve our hunger, though?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Dean asks.  
  
“We’re in somebody’s dream, right?”  
  
“Looks like it…”  
  
“So if it’s a dream and it’s happening in our heads, the hunger is probably real, because our visceral sensations while we’re asleep are often transmitted to dreams. But the food isn’t real.”  
  
 _“Visceral,”_  Dean mocks. “You can’t stop being a geek, can you?”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
Dean is about to say something, but his stomach rumbles again. “Only one way to find out about what’s real and what’s not.” He gestures to the area around them.  “You get settled. I’ll get us some grub.”  
  
“I can help,” Sam says, going after Dean when he starts walking, but his brother turns around and points at a patch of grass below the shade of a tree.  
  
“Sit. I’ll be right back.”  
  
Sam grudgingly listens to him and sits down, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his back against a tree trunk. He doesn’t have his gun on him and neither does Dean. Sam looks around the wilderness around him, wondering what here could kill him. Maybe animals? But they would have heard something by now. They haven’t seen anything except for rabbits and deer.  
  
Dean returns a few minutes later with something bundled up in his jacket. He sits down with a grunt beside Sam and puts the jacket between them. A half dozen guavas roll out.  
  
Sam raises an eyebrow. “Guavas?”  
  
“The only thing I could find nearby,” Dean replies, shrugging.  
  
Sam sniggers at the thought of his brother having to eat healthy food and picks one up. It smells heavenly. He turns to his brother. “Was this cultivated?”  
  
“You don’t think I’d have mentioned that?”  
  
“These look good.”  
  
“Knock yourself out,” says Dean with a huff, and he picks up a fruit.   
  
Sam smiles at him and brings the guava to his mouth, sinking his teeth into it. The skin is somewhat hard but once he breaks it, a soft piece comes away in his mouth, juicy and sweet. For a minute, his tongue just revels in the smooth sweetness before he chews the piece and swallows it down.   
  
“Wow,” Sam whispers, before he can stop himself.   
  
“Tell me about it,” says Dean's voice beside him and he actually has to turn around to confirm that Dean is praising the taste of a guava. “Oh my God,” says his brother, taking another bite of the fruit.  
  
“Who are you and what have you done to my brother?” Sam asks him, amused.  
  
“Shut up, Sam,” Dean mutters, taking another hungry bite. He chews it down as Sam eats his own guava.  
  
“So, real food, I guess,” says Sam.  
  
“Not a dream, then?” Dean asks him.  
  
“Not a dream. Just someone’s dreamland.”   
  
They finish a fruit each, and Sam feels his brother’s eyes on him as he takes the last bite.  
  
“What?” he asks Dean, who is still staring at him in surprise.  
  
“You’re eating by yourself,” Dean says, still not taking his eyes off Sam.  
  
Sam arches an eyebrow. “Because… you always fed me all this time?”  
  
“No, Sam,” Dean says, a wide smile lighting up his features, “you’re not bitching about having to eat! You actually got hungry!”  
  
“Well… yeah.”  
  
And that’s when Sam understands why his brother is happy about that. He hasn’t really been hungry in a while, but he feels perfectly fine today. And he realises he hasn’t coughed all day. Not once.  
  
“You look well too,” Dean remarks. “I mean, I noticed that something was different at first… but Sam, you’re healthy!”  
  
Sam looks at his hands, and his arms, that seem to have regained the bulk they’d lost of late. He touches his face to feel the fullness there and smiles, turning to his brother. “I guess I am.”  
  
Dean looks around them. “You think this place is healing you? You think it’s magical or something? And like you said, if the visceral thingies or whatever are somehow transmitted here… are you really okay?”  
  
“Well, it is magical, and I could be completely okay,” Sam agrees, “but don’t I still die in the end if I stay here?”  
  
Dean shrugs. “You’re healthy. This place is nice. No demons, angels or any of that crap.”  
  
“Not yet,” replies Sam, and pauses. “Since when have you been okay with me dying?”  
  
“I’m not!” says Dean. Then he looks away. “But Sammy…”  
  
He doesn’t have to say anything else. Sam knows Dean feels guilty about the Sam undertaking the trials in his place and about the suffering that has come with them, which only seems to be increasing day after day. In this place, Sam seems fine and not in any pain. Sam thinks that maybe seeing him here, alive and well in this not-dream dreamland, has made Dean think that it may be a better option: if Sam dies, he dies healthy — literally in his sleep — and not months later, coughing up a lung and in pain. Besides, with one pull on the trigger of his S&W, Dean can follow Sam, instead of watching Sam’s agony and worrying that the trials will ruin Sam’s health for good. Sam knows that the outcome will be something a lot more severe, but of course he isn’t telling Dean.   
  
Plus, Dean can  _do_  something this way.   
  
Dean doesn’t have to say it: Sam knows Dean will sacrifice himself to follow Sam. But Sam is not okay with this.  
  
“No. We need to shut the gates of Hell, Dean, and there’s Kev… and we can’t just bail on all that.”  
  
Dean still refuses to meet eyes with him. He takes another guava, clenches his jaw, and takes a deep breath. “Yeah.”  
  
“We have a responsibility, right?”  
  
 _We always have a million responsibilities, Sam, so why can’t we just screw it this time and think about ourselves for once?_ Sam fully expects a reply along those lines from his brother, but Dean just nods meekly. “We do.”  
  
“So we’ll find a way out of here, okay?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Sam licks his lip, raises his hand to squeeze his brother’s shoulder, but decides against it. Instead, he reaches for his second guava, looks at it, and speaks. “I’ll be fine, Dean.”  
  
“Yeah.”

 

**~o~**

  
They don’t talk much after their fruit lunch and Sam can feel the guilt pour off Dean as they trek further down the forest trail. He knows that Dean feels horrible about so much as suggesting to Sam that they forget their shit and think about themselves just this once, and he wishes he could tell Dean that it’s okay to be selfish once in a while, but he doesn’t say it. He doesn’t want Dean to die, and he will never encourage his brother’s idea.   
  
They keep walking, and the only sounds around them are the bird calls. The forest is lovely, and they’ve not encountered anything dangerous yet. Again, Sam wonders what kind of a death he’s supposed to die here.  
  
Towards sunset the heat becomes bearable, and Sam feels thirsty from all the sweating. They haven’t had a drop of water since the morning and they’re rapidly getting dehydrated. Sam knows he heard a stream nearby — or maybe a river. He’s about to mention it to Dean, but Dean beats him to it.   
  
“We need water, man. I can hear a stream, and we could sit for a while.”  
  
Sam nods. “Sure.”  
  
They take the path in the direction of the water and, after walking for an hour more, they see it. They are, however, surprised to find that it’s neither a river, not a brook. It’s a small lake.  
  
“You heard flowing water too, right?” Dean asks Sam, turning away from the perfectly silent lake. It’s on the smaller side, though. They can see the other shore from where they are.  
  
“I heard it,” Sam agrees.  
  
“Think it came from somewhere else?”  
  
“Possible.” Sam shrugs, though he finds it odd that he and Dean made the same mistake.   
  
Dean walks forward to the lake and gets to his knees, peering into the lake. “You think the water could be poisonous?”  
  
Sam scratches at his nose. “Well, nothing we ate was poisonous… I think we’ve been transported to this… thing’s habitat, so I doubt anything around us is harmful. It’s the monster that got me that we have to worry about.”  
  
“Yeah,” says Dean. “A monster. Or a crazy human — which is just as bad.”  
  
“Either way, I don’t think the forest will harm us.”  
  
Dean tilts his head. “Only one way to find out.”   
  
Before Sam can protest, he cups some water into his hands, bends forward, and gulps it down. Then he lets his arms hang at his sides and Sam watches, his heart pounding. Even if the water is poisonous, Dean can’t die, right? He’s in Sam’s head… he can’t die.   
  
Dean coughs, and alarmed, Sam almost falls to his knees beside his brother, when Dean looks back and smiles. “I think it’s good.”  
  
“It tastes fine?”  
  
“Yeah. Nothing funny about it. C’mere.”  
  
Sam obeys him, crouches down, and greedily raises handfuls of water to his mouth. It tastes good — kinda sweet, and it soothes his dry mouth and throat as it goes down. He drinks several mouthfuls, and Dean does the same, before collapsing back on the grass.  
  
The sky is an orange-violet colour and the moon has risen, faintly white and round on the horizon. Sam breathes in the perpetual scent of eucalyptus and jasmines around him and looks up at the sky. He knows that he and Dean must go on, that they don’t have much time, but he’s not had time to observe nature of late — not since the trials started, and the idea just now is calming.  
  
“Sam.” Dean’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and he turns to his elder brother. “We’ve gotta start moving again.”  
  
“Yeah,” he says, and he makes to get up, Dean with him.   
  
“Think we should walk along the shore for a while?” Dean says.  
  
“Maybe?”  
  
“Or,” Dean squints into the distance, at the opposite shore. “Maybe we could swim across.”  
  
“I don’t know, Dean,” says Sam, following his gaze.  
  
“Well, we could always come back if there’s nothing,” Dean replies, “but we gotta look for a way out and I don’t know… I think we should try the other side too.”  
  
Sam thinks about it for a moment. Dean is right. The lake isn’t so big that they can’t swim back, and either ways, they’re not closer to a destination even with their old trail. And something tells him that the answers they’re looking for are across the lake. Plus, it’s been a long, hot day and a swim seems like a good idea.  
  
“Okay,” he says, “let’s try the other side. I have a feeling we might actually find some answers.”  
  
Dean nods, shrugs off his jacket, and removes his shirt reluctantly. “Can’t swim with too many clothes on.”  
  
Sam copies him, but both of them refuse to lose the jeans.  They get into the lake in their undershirts and jeans, which are pretty heavy anyway, but they’re still better off without the other layers.  
  
Dean pushes off and starts to swim ahead, arms and legs moving quickly in the water and Sam takes off after him in a front crawl, arms slicing through the still water and propelling him forward. The water is cool and pleasing, and Sam splashes along behind his brother for another fifteen minutes, until the shore comes closer. In another five minutes, Dean is out of the water. He drags himself onto land, sits back on his ass, and gestures for Sam to hurry up.  
  
Sam is about ten strokes away from the shore when he feels something — movement in the water beneath him. It’s still deep where he is, but so far he hasn't seen anything except for small fish.  
  
He is eight strokes away when he hears a low growl.  _What the hell was that?_  He quickens his pace, heart racing.  
  
At six strokes, something tugs at the leg of his jeans. He hurries.  
  
He is at five strokes when the growl grows louder and before he knows it, he feels something clamp onto his calf.  Jagged ends rip through his jeans and draw a warm stream of blood.  
  
“Sam!” Dean stands up on the shore.  Sam’s leg is agony. He turns around, just in time to see the scaly head and the pupil-slits of a crocodile before the pain in his leg becomes unbearable and he’s pulled underwater.  
  
From four strokes away, Dean watches his little brother disappear into the lake.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

“Sammy?”  
  
It’s like watching a horrible video in slow-motion. The crocodile closes its large jaw around Sam’s leg. Dark blood spurts out, spreading swiftly in the water as Sam splashes his arms helplessly.  He struggles and tries to kick the animal away. He turns around and starts to get hold of the huge creature, but he's pulled under the water the next second.  
  
Dean dives into the cool water without a second thought. Pushing strongly with his limbs, he swims further down when he spots Sam, who is still struggling as the crocodile holds on to his leg. Tiny bubbles escape Sam’s lips. _Oh, crap_ , _he’s drowning._  
  
Dean propels himself more quickly towards his struggling brother. The crocodile has its eyes on Sam and doesn’t even let go when Dean swims down to them. He hooks an arm around Sam’s waist and pulls. Sam’s mouth opens, in what might be agony, and Dean hears a horrible gurgling sound _. Fuck!_  Sam’s taking in huge amounts of water.  
  
Sam is rapidly becoming flaccid in Dean’s arms. Using Sam’s body to pull himself down, he swims to the creature as it continues to attack Sam. He can’t hold his breath for much longer and if he has to swim back up for some air, he’ll lose Sam. So he gathers up all his courage and wraps his arms around the crocodile’s scaly body.  
  
Its body gyrates in his grip, and its strong muscles quiver underneath his touch, but it doesn’t release Sam. Instead, its teeth sink lower into Sam’s flesh. Sam opens his mouth in a scream, and Dean hears the horrid gurgling again, as he and crocodile slip lower into the water. It’s still ignoring Dean, which strikes him as very odd.  
  
 _Time for the last resort,_  Dean thinks. His lungs are urging him to breathe and his chest is on fire. He’ll either drown or pass out if he doesn’t work soon. So he grasps the crocodile’s jaw, and tries to pry it open. Its pupils turn to him and it slips from his grip easily, swimming lower with Sam, who is practically horizontal now.  
  
 _Fuck_ , thinks Dean, going lower and reaching for the crocodile’s jaw again. He places a hand on its snout but it slips against the scales. Before he can catch the lower jaw, the crocodile loosens its grip on Sam.  
  
Bewildered, Dean does it again — he strokes the snout. The crocodile’s eyes are on him, yellow and ferocious, but it lets go of his brother at his touch.  _What the hell?_  Dean doesn’t question his good fortune, though. He just grabs Sam by the back of his collar and swims up, bursting out of the water as his mouth opens hungrily for a cold, stabbing blast of air.   
  
Dean takes two deep breaths but doesn’t stay there any longer because Sam’s unconscious, and he isn’t sure if his brother’s breathing. So he swims as quickly as he can to the shore with Sam’s dead weight, still holding on to the back of his collar, and drags his brother across the land to a patch of grass.  
  
The sky has a spectacular full moon on it, spreading cool, silvery light everywhere with a few stars blinking here and there. It’s deathly quiet, except for Dean’s ragged breaths, and a steady, dripping sound as clear drops of water spatter to the ground from his hair, face and clothes. There’s a chilly breeze blowing and Dean is slightly cold, but he ignores it and kneels down beside his brother. He puts a palm under Sam’s nostrils as the other hand clutches at Sam’s wrist for his pulse.  _Please be okay, please be okay._  
  
The pulse is rapid and the breathing is weak, but Sam is alive, and that’s all Dean needs for now. He heaves a sigh of relief as he reaches to pat Sam’s cheeks. “Hey.”  
  
Sam doesn’t awake, though, and just stays unconscious, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he takes wheezing breaths. He looks pale and grey in the moonlight. The palm on his chest twitches, and Dean notices that the nail beds are turning blue.  
  
“Crap,” he mutters, picking up Sam’s hand and rubbing it rapidly against his own damp one. “Come on, dude. Don’t be such a princess. You’re okay.”  
  
Sam lets out a sigh at that and coughs, moaning slightly, and his eyelids flutter. “D’n?”  
  
Dean squeezes Sam’s shoulder and Sam opens his eyes, before looking about, confused.  He starts to cough again, loud, hacking coughs with tears running down his eyes. “Hey, hey,” Dean soothes him and helps him sit up but Sam pushes him out of the way as he bends over, coughs again, and pukes up a few hundred quarts of water.   
  
“Sam?” Dean moves over to his brother’s other side to avoid being sprayed by the puke. Sam moans and continues to retch up more water and what looks like some of his stomach, his spleen and maybe a few inches of his small intestine. He looks relieved when he’s done, though, and drags his ass back so he can rest against a tree trunk, still coughing, and leaving a trail of dark blood on the grass. That’s when Dean’s attention turns to his brother’s leg.  
  
“Gotta take a look at that,” he says, before manoeuvring his way around the sick and crouching next to Sam, as his brother closes his eyes, exhausted. Slowly, Dean reaches for the trouser leg and begins to roll it up, making Sam hiss in pain.  
  
“Relax,” Dean says, trying to pull up the fabric more gently. He has to roll it up all the way to Sam’s calves to see a row of punctures made by the beast’s teeth. The wounds aren’t deep, but they’re bleeding. Plus, there is the danger of infection and Dean has no idea about herbal medicine.  
  
“Can you feel your leg?” Dean asks Sam, trying to flex and extend it at the knee joint, hoping there’s no neural damage.  
  
Sam hisses again, and Dean has never felt such relief at his brother’s pain.   
  
“Y-Yeah,” Sam says, coughing again. “Stop that.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean says, letting go of the limb and coming back to his brother. “Let’s just stay here and call it a night, then. Are you cold?” Even if Sam isn’t, Dean certainly is cold.  
  
Sam nods tightly, and Dean washes a hand down his face. He can go around looking for wood to build fire, but he doesn’t want to leave Sam alone here in this condition. The forest had seemed really safe before they found the lake, but Dean isn’t so sure about the animals around here anymore. And,  _fuck_ , what if all those fruits were poisonous?  
  
He decides to worry about the fruits if either of them starts showing symptoms. However, only a fire can keep the animals away, but he can’t get himself to leave to gather wood.  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Sam says suddenly, almost as though he’s reading Dean’s mind. Dean turns around to him, frowning at this, but his younger brother shrugs. “I’ve known you thirty years, Dean. It’s not that hard to figure you out. Now go on, I’ll be okay.”  
  
Dean shakes his head. “You do realise, right, that if there was a fucking croc in that perfect-looking lake—”  
  
“— there could be much worse around here,” Sam finishes for him. “Yeah, I know. It’s okay. Just go. The fire’s important. Plus,” he flashes those stupid puppy eyes of his, “I’m cold.”  
  
“Goddammit, Sam, you’re  _thirty_. Enough with the creepy eye thing!”  
  
He grins. “Please?” Dean suddenly notices how tired his brother sounds. Sam needs to sleep and not die of hypothermia in the middle of the night.   
  
Dean huffs. “Okay. But—”  
  
“I’ll be careful,” Sam says, keeping the grin on.  
  
 _Stupid bitch with his stupid eyes_ , Dean thinks, as he takes off to look for wood. He remembers how he thought that maybe this was a better place than the real world out there. But now this is starting to scare him more than the demons and the trials. At least those were known evil. But what the fuck is keeping them here like this?

 

**~o~**

  
The fire crackles comfortingly as Sam shifts closer, warming his hands before the glowing flames. Dean has made sure that Sam is fed and watered for the evening (in Sam’s opinion, he’s been watered enough in one day to last him a whole lifetime, and then a few more). He is tired, though, and is still coughing. His chest feels a tad congested. And he doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s sleepy too.  
  
The bite wound on his leg is still pretty painful and is a persistent throb, but it has thankfully stopped bleeding. Dean said something along the lines of checking for infection later, but Sam doesn’t care. He’s going to die one way or the other. He’ll either die here in a couple of days, or he’ll get back to the bunker after fighting whoever this bones person is, and then he’ll die from whatever the trials are doing to him.  
  
Yeah, he knows he’s going to die. If the first two trials did what they did to him, it isn’t hard to guess what the third trial will be like. Maybe Dean realises, maybe he doesn’t, but Sam won’t tell Dean. He glances at Dean’s tired face as his brother stares into the fire with narrowed eyes. The amber glow of the fire accentuates the crinkles around Dean’s eyes, and Sam knows he’s thinking hard.  
  
He thinks he knows what Dean is wondering about. Why would their captor heal Sam from the trial sickness, if it wanted the crocodile to get him anyway? Or was the crocodile just a part of the creature’s habitat? And where had it come from anyway? Didn’t crocs come up every half-an-hour or so, for air? Why hadn’t it surfaced while they were spending time at the other shore? Or had they just not noticed it?  
  
Sam yawns, as the questions prick at his brain over and over, and then he feels Dean’s eyes upon him. “You can sleep if you want, you know,” Dean says. “I’ll sit up and keep watch.”  
  
“You won’t wake me up and let me take over if I agree to sleep.”  
  
“You callin’ me a cheater?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Dean’s lips twitch, almost forming a smile. “I’ll wake you up,” he says.  
  
“Promise?”  
  
“What are you, twelve?”  
  
“No,  _you_  are.”  
  
“Go to sleep, Sam.”  
  
“Okay.” Sam yawns again and lowers himself onto the grass. His damp clothes still make him cold, and he wishes he had his jacket on him. A mild headache is starting to build behind his eyes and he coughs a few more times — a residual effect of the near-drowning. A shudder passes through him; he remembers the strong creature, steadily pulling him downward, while he struggled. Dean hasn’t said how he rescued Sam from the thing. Sam will have to ask about it later. That’s the last thought to cross his head before he drifts into a dreamless sleep.  
  
He wakes up, well-rested, except for a few coughing fits at night which have tapered off. Something warm and comfortable is draped over his shoulders and chest. Sunlight hits his eyes and face and he huddles closer, thinking of Jess. The sunlight would stream through the window in their apartment at Palo Alto and fall on his eyes on Sunday mornings when he actually slept that long. He’d wake up and smell frying bacon, or pancakes… or chicken sausages, and there’d be coffee. And Jess would come in sometimes to wake him up, with her wet hair soaking her long, purple bathrobe. Sam would smell her shampoo — green apples, he remembers. And then he’d open an eye, reach his long arms to her, and pull her down by her shoulders the moment she bent over to wake him up. Their lips would meet, Sam would curve a leg around her before rolling over so she was under him, and he’d nibble her jaw and then her neck.  He'd undo the robe, going to her clavicle and lower still, sucking, kissing and nipping until—  
  
“Sam?”  
  
Sam’s eyes jerk open as he wakes up with a start. He’d dozed off again, he realises, and the sunlight falls directly on his face, so he has to bring up an arm to cover his eyes. The fire’s gone, and it’s comfortably warm.  His head is throbbing, though, and so is his leg, and he squints at Dean, who’s crouched beside him.  
  
“Y’okay?” Dean asks him.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam says hoarsely. He looks around again. “Why didn’t you wake me up for the watch?”  
  
“Because I’m awesome,” Dean replies, and Sam gives him a disagreeing frown. “Besides,” Dean continues, “you looked like you were enjoying a nice dream.”  
  
“I wasn’t dreaming.” Sam lies, as he grunts and sits up. Something falls off his chest, onto his lap. As he looks down, he notices his blue jacket. No wonder he was so warm. “Where did you get this from?” he asks Dean again.  
  
“Made a quick swim,” his brother shrugs and places some apples between them as he sits cross-legged beside Sam, who is staring at him, wide-eyed. “Breakfast?”  
  
Sam finally gets his voice back. “Are you a fucking moron?”  
  
“You were cold,” Dean says nonchalantly, “and I was too, and I didn’t want us to die of freakin’ hypothermia of all things. So yeah, I swam back and got the jacket. It dried nice and quick in front of the fire and you stopped shivering.”  
  
“But the crocodile!”  
  
“It didn’t hurt me when I was trying to save you, Sam,” Dean replies. “In fact, it didn’t look at me at all.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean meets eyes with Sam. “Aren’t you curious about how I pulled off that heroic rescue?”  
  
“Yeah, about that—”  
  
“I stroked it,” says Dean, before Sam can complete his sentence.  
  
“What?” This is just getting more and more ridiculous.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean replies.  He takes an apple and bites into it. Juice trickles down from the fruit and slides down his wrist as he shuts his eyes for a moment and nods happily. Then he shrugs again, and speaks with his mouth full. “I tied pying ish jash away,” he swallows the food down, “but that didn’t work and I was going to try again, but then my hand slipped and I ended up stroking it. It let go of you.”  
  
Sam screws his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose, while trying to process this information. “So,” he says, looking up briefly, “the croc just needed affectionate handling or something?”  
  
“I guess. That’s why I went back. I knew what I had to do if it attacked again.”  
  
“Y’think all the animals here might behave like that?”  
  
“Either that, or we’ve got a love-starved croc in that lake.”  
  
Sam chuckles lightly, and then rests his back against the tree. A light ache is starting to spread through his body and his leg is still throbbing uneasily.  _So much for being healthy again_ , he thinks. He watches Dean take another bite and push the apples forward to Sam.   
  
“Aren’t you going to eat?”  
  
“Not hungry,” Sam says truthfully. His stomach feels weird.  
  
“You gotta keep your strength up, Sam.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Dean pushes the apples further. “Take one.”  
  
Sam hesitates, and then picks up the smallest apple. He bites it and the flesh crunches through his teeth as the juice starts to flow immediately. Even with his strange stomach and headache and everything, it is delicious, and he’s soon walloping down one apple, and then two.   
  
He feels much better once he’s eaten, and Dean suggests a while later that they should get going. They stand up and Sam wobbles a little. He is reminded instantly of his shaky legs that he’d thought he had left behind with the real world out there. Looks like it’s coming back with a vengeance.  He feels increasingly uncomfortable as they start to walk and is relieved when, early in the afternoon, Dean decides that they should take a break. Sam almost falls down to the grass and puts his head in his hands as Dean sits next to him with his eyebrows scrunched up in a frown.  
  
Sam looks up at him and gives him a wan smile. “I’m okay. Leg hurts, s’all.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
Sam nods, and Dean goes in search of food again. Sam’s stomach roils at the thought of eating more. He settles down, though, trying to push away the inevitable feeling that something’s about to go awfully wrong.

 

**~o~**

  
Sam is the biggest liar on this planet, Dean thinks, as he walks slowly, occasionally glancing over his shoulder at his little brother, who is walking haltingly behind him. His leg is giving him trouble, but he refuses Dean’s help. Dean also knows, from the way the kid’s been pinching the bridge of his nose and clutching his head, that there’s a huge headache involved.  
  
Sam hasn’t stopped coughing for the last hour or so. And it isn’t a normal cough either, and it’s not the I-nearly-drowned-and-might-be-catching--pneumonia kind of cough. Sam’s doing that long, rattling thing, and if Dean didn’t know better, he’d think Sam is having an asthma attack, but he doesn’t have asthma, so this is something else. He’s been coughing plenty since the trials, but nothing ever sounded like this. This is just… it’s like he’s starving for air or something — loud, dry hacks, and it sounds fucking scary.   
  
When asked if he wants to rest, Sam merely bitchfaces and says he’s fine.   
  
 _Fine. Just don’t pass out on me or somethin’,_  Dean thinks.  _I’m not gonna carry you through the freakin’ Forbidden Forest. And it’s your fault I know these geeky Harry Potter words too._  
  
They have been looking for hours and nothing eventful has happened since the crocodile attack, and while Dean’s thankful for that, he’s also afraid that there’s something worse waiting for them. Plus, Sam’s getting sick again and Dean needs to take him back to the bunker where they have the right kind of food and meds to handle this.  
  
It’s getting fucking hot now, and the humidity doesn’t help. Dean’s sweating like a pig and none of it is evaporating away. They don't have water bottles and they haven’t seen or heard another water body, but they couldn’t stay by the lake forever. The only water in their systems is from the juice of the fruits and that isn’t enough. Dean has checked his pee too, and it looks concentrated and he knows he’s losing water fast.   
  
He’s pushing aside the protruding branches of a tree and moving ahead, hoping to hear a stream or something, when his brother calls out to him in a faint, hoarse voice.  
  
“Dean…”  
  
He turns around in time to see Sam sway forward. Dean rushes back to wrap his hands around his brother. “Hey, hey, Sammy?”  
  
Sam doesn’t respond as his eyes roll upwards and shut, and Dean lowers his brother to the ground, under the shade of a tree. He feels his brother’s forehead, only to take his hand away the next second. Sam’s skin is cold and slippery with sweat and Dean makes a face as he wipes his brother’s sweat off on his jeans. Sam’s lips look chapped and dry. It seems like he’s passed out from heat exhaustion.  
  
Friggin’ Forbidden forest. Hypothermia at night, heat exhaustion in the afternoon. But since when did Sam start fainting at a bit of sun? Is he sick, apart from the lingering effects of the drowning?  
  
“Sam?” Dean’s clutching his wrist, counting his pulse, while his other hand pats Sam’s chest. “Wake up, buddy.”  
  
The pulse is rapid again and Dean’s sure about the heat exhaustion now. Quickly, he undoes the buttons on Sam’s long-sleeved shirt and raises his brother from the ground as he pulls it off and throws it to the side. Then he loosens Sam’s t-shirt, but that’s a little harder to achieve, as the damp material sticks to his brother like a second skin.  
  
“Come on,” Dean says, trying to fan Sam’s face with his hand. Sam moans, and his eyes move beneath their lids before they open sluggishly.  
  
“Hey,” Sam greets Dean with a rasp.  
  
“Hey yourself,” Dean replies, relieved. “Why didn’t you tell me the sun was screwing you over?”  
  
“Didn’t want to slow us down,” Sam says.  
  
“You’re full of crap, you know that?”  
  
“Thank you. So are you, by the way.”  
  
“Bitch,” Dean retorts. He pauses. “Ready to sit up?”  
  
Sam thinks about it for a few seconds, and nods. Dean puts his arms under Sam’s armpits and prepares to haul him up. “You should kiss my ass for this. You’re gross with sweat right now.”  
  
“Screw you,” Sam says. He pushes Dean away as he gets up by himself, sways a bit, but holds his own. He settles back against the tree and flashes a spectacular bitchface at Dean. “There. I don’t need your help, okay?”  
  
“Aw, hey, don’t get pissed,” Dean says, faking sadness. “But seriously,” he continues, “you need anything?”  
  
Sam swallows. “Maybe some water, yeah.”  
  
Dean sighs. There’s no water anywhere around. He scrubs a hand over his mouth. “I think we can find some if we walk further. Think you can do that? I can’t leave you alone here.”  
  
Sam pinches the bridge of his nose again. “I don’t — I don’t know.”  
  
 _Shit_ , Dean thinks. Sam needs some water right now, but there’s none. Fucking irony of this place — Sam just drowned a few hours ago, and now he doesn’t have enough water in him.  
  
Dean thinks fast, and then reaches for one of the apples bundled in his jacket. He hands one of them to Sam. “Here. This has juice. It should help,” he says. “Have this and we’ll find some real water soon.”  
  
Sam wrinkles his nose and massages his temple. Dean sighs and sits down, next to his brother. “Come on, kiddo,” he coaxes him. He hasn’t called Sam that in like… fifteen years, but he’s out of encouragements for his brother at this moment. Sam needs some water in his system, and this is the only way.  
  
“My stomach feels weird,” Sam complains.  
  
“It’s because of the heat exhaustion,” Dean says. “This will make it better.”  
  
“I don’t know, Dean…”  
  
“Just have one, Sammy, we’ve really gotta get out of here. I don’t like this place at all.”  
  
Sam reluctantly accepts it and takes a bite, as Dean watches him. They wait there, until Sam can finish the apple and he feels stronger once it’s in him, so they start to walk again. Dean now wonders who they’re facing, that this person even showing themselves and is just waiting for them to weaken.  
  
 _The cowardly type_ , he thinks.  _Watch if I don’t kill the fuck out of this son of a bitch._

 

**~o~**

  
A little after sundown, Sam realises that something’s really wrong with him. He guesses he should have figured out sooner, but he’d just thought it was the aftereffect of near-drowning. But, right now, he doesn’t feel like it is anymore.  
  
The headache is intensifying and Sam’s whole body aches as though he’s been beaten with a stick. His flanks are especially painful and, to top it all, he’s coughing like he’s never coughed before. There’s no blood, but the fits are long and painful. He’s so starved for air at the end that he’s on the verge of passing out each time. His throat is so sore from coughing that he can barely talk.  
  
It’s getting dark. Sam has already consumed three apples to keep the water levels up, but they’re all sloshing about in his stomach uncomfortably and he has to swallow down nausea even as he thinks of it. He’s also incredibly cold.  
  
Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with him?  
  
“Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Dean asks him, and Sam realises that he’s shivering. His elder brother narrows his eyes, takes off his jacket and drapes it over Sam’s shoulders.  
  
“Thanks,” Sam mutters. “You aren’t cold?”  
  
“It’s practically Florida weather, Sam,” says Dean. “I was only cold last night because I was wet, and I thought that was what was going on with you too.”  
  
“I don’t know, man,” says Sam, shivering again, and pulling the jacket closer as they continue to walk. “I don’t feel so good.”  
  
“Yeah, I figured,” Dean says.  
  
Sam’s stomach suddenly lurches and he stops in his tracks, jerks forward, doubles over and retches. Dean leaps away just in time to avoid the spatter. “Fuck! Sammy?!”  
  
Sam just coughs and throws up into the grass, clutching on to a tree trunk to keep his balance as his brother waits for him to finish. After puking and dry heaving for a while, Sam wipes his mouth with his other hand, and straightens, looking at his brother’s concerned face. “I don’t feel good, Dean,” he says weakly. “Can we sit for a while?”  
  
“Y-Yeah,” Dean comes forward, raises a hand and squeezes Sam’s neck lightly. “You done?”  
  
“I think so.”  
  
“Come on,” he says, patting Sam’s back, and leads him a little distance into the woods so they can sit down, away from the sick. “I’ll build a fire,” Dean says, when Sam shivers again. A bird flies back to its nest somewhere above them — the last of the birds for that evening. They can hear the crickets chirping around them.  
  
“’M thirsty,” Sam says helplessly before Dean can get up and leave. “Let’s just stay here for a while and then search for the stream. We can build a fire once we’re close to it.”  
  
“Sammy—”  
  
“I’ll be okay,” he lies. He pulls his knees to his chest and rests his forehead on them, breathing deeply. He’s so dehydrated, he hasn’t peed in hours. The pain in his flank flares up and his head throbs. Oh, right now he’d so prefer the trial sickness or whatever this was. This sucks ass. Or maybe they’re equally bad. Is a painful death just his kismet or what?  
  
When he feels a little better, he looks up and makes to stand. “C’mon,” he says to Dean, who stands up too. “We gotta look for a stream.”  
  
“You feelin’ any better?” Dean asks him.  
  
“A little,” Sam says, and Dean stares at him intently, seeing if he can catch a lie, but he seems convinced after a minute.  
  
“Okay, come on.”  
  
They have to halt at several places because Sam’s feeling so crappy he needs to sit sometimes. He’s getting worse by the minute and Dean’s figured it out, but he stays silent about it, only keeping up with Sam’s needs and trying to help him when required. Sam can hear his brother’s cogwheels whirring. What the fuck is this thing they are facing? Why is Sam getting sick? Does his sickness have anything to do with their captor, or is the sickness from the trials catching up with him, made worse from the near-drowning and heat?  
  
Dean checks Sam’s leg wound on one of their breaks, and there are mercifully no signs of infection, so they remain cautiously optimistic about that. There’s no need for a fucking infection on top of everything.  
  
It must be past midnight, Sam thinks, when they hear the stream. He’s a little feverish now, the flank pain is awful, and he’s puked two more times on the way here. He feels like hell, with his brain trying to escape his skull. The croc bite is the least painful thing in his body and when he says that to Dean, Dean gets visibly worried.  
  
They follow the sound of water and let themselves into a near-perfect circle of trees. The trees are separated in between, just enough to let a narrow stream to pass through, its little tributaries winding around the trunks. The stream isn’t too deep. There is soft grass around them and Sam drops with a sigh and crawls — literally  _crawls_  to the stream where he bends over and cups some water before getting it into his mouth.  
  
He rinses and spits out the vile taste of vomit.  He takes another mouthful, rinses again, and then starts to drink like he’s never seen water his whole life. The water is clear and sweet, and it feels like heaven. Dean’s doing the same beside him — drinking thirstily and splashing his face, and Sam notices for the first time how exhausted Dean looks. Sam’s been so out of it most of the time, he didn’t realise that Dean has been tired too.  
  
Dean gets back on his feet with a grunt. “I’ll get some firewood,” he says.  _God, he sounds tired too_  — how didn’t Sam notice that before?  
  
“No, it’s okay,” he says to Dean. “I’m okay now.”  
  
“Not cold?” Dean asks him, frowning.  
  
“No,” Sam lies, pulling the jacket closer. “Let’s just sleep for the night and go ahead in the morning. We need to hunt this thing.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean says, and sits back down, letting out a yawn. “You hungry?”  
  
Sam hasn’t eaten anything since his stomach rebelled. “No,” he says.  
  
“I am,” Dean says and looks about, when his eyes fall on the trees around them. “You notice these trees?” he asks Sam.  
  
Sam follows Dean’s gaze and sees it at once. Hanging from the branches are large, ripe pomegranates. There are plenty: every tree around is heavy with them.  
  
Aren’t pomegranates a tropical fruit? But then, Sam thinks, they’d established long ago that their captor is from a tropical place (also, bones of an Indian woman, so surprise, surprise). Dean gets up, plucks off a couple and comes back. Gritting his teeth, he breaks one open in two pieces, and the fleshy, edible seeds shine inside, all big and ripe, and, Sam knows, if they had something other than the grey moonlight to illuminate them, they’d be very red too.  
  
Before he can realise it, Sam’s stomach rumbles, even through the nausea. Dean hears that, and arches an eyebrow. “Thought you weren’t hungry?”  
  
“I’m still nauseous,” Sam says.  
  
“You wanna eat some?” his brother asks, pushing a half towards him as he breaks off a few seeds from his half.  
  
Sam contemplates it for a while and when his stomach growls again he takes the piece, detaches a few seeds, and puts them into his mouth, just as Dean does the same. They’re sweet, juicy and delicious — like every other fruit they’ve had around here, and Sam’s nausea goes away immediately.  
  
He plucks off another handful and puts it into his mouth. He’s chewing it down, when it happens — he and Dean hear a voice behind them.  
  
“Stop!” it says, and they turn around to see a woman standing there, between two trees, drenched in moonlight. “Don’t eat that,” she says, “they’re poisonous.”  
  
Dean lets go of the pomegranate and stands up immediately, covering Sam from her view as he asks her in a menacing tone, “Who are you?” Sam gets to his feet too, a few beats behind Dean.   
  
“My name is Rajni,” the woman says, “You didn’t eat the pomegranate, did you?”  
  
“Why?” Sam asks her. “What if we did?”  
  
She turns to him, and her dark eyes bore into his. “You’ll die by sunrise.”


	4. Chapter 4

 

Rajni is pretty, Sam reckons, as he eyes her. She’s short, and she’s Indian with a round face, high cheekbones and large, almond-shaped dark eyes surrounded by a thick row of lashes. Black curls of hair cascade down her back and reach her hips. She walks forward, towards them, and a chinking sound comes from her feet; when Sam looks, he notices golden anklets. She’s barefoot, and is dressed in what looks like a white dress, which wraps loosely around her body, barely hides her breasts from view, and goes down to her knees.   
  
Dean is licking his lips as though they’re dry. Sam frowns. He doesn’t like the sight of this woman, and he wonders what’s up with Dean.  
  
He then clears his throat and speaks to the strange woman. “How do you know that they’re poisonous? The pomegranates?”  
  
She smiles. “I’ve been here long enough to know. I’m trapped too — like you.” Her accent is different — Indian.  
  
Sam narrows his eyes. “Everybody must die here sooner or later. When did you get stuck in this place?”  
  
Rajni shrugs. “It’s been a while. You don’t age once you get trapped here, and you won’t die if you stop snooping around. If you find a safe spot, and stay there, you live.”  
  
Sam realises that she means she should have died long ago in the actual world. If she’s still alive, it’s not natural.  _Just like him and Dean_ , Sam thinks ruefully, but they know exactly how and why they’re not dead yet — in the real world. This woman, though, is a different case.   
  
Meanwhile, Rajni steps closer, until she is just inches away from Sam. He can smell jasmines off her. His head spins, and he takes a step back from the mesmerising scent. She shakes her head. “I’m not going to hurt you. I know what you’re thinking — yes, I should have died long ago. But like I said, you don’t age once you’re trapped here. So now I’m just making do with what I’ve got.”  
  
“I don’t trust you,” Sam replies, and coughs into his fist. He tries to control the full force of it, so that Rajni can’t see how bad it is.  
  
“Trusting me is up to you,” she shrugs. “I’m just trying to help. The poison from those pomegranates is acting on you as we speak and in an hour, it will be too late to save you. Your brother will be affected too. It’s not like the crocodile attack this time. So if you want the slightest opportunity to survive, you have to come with me.”  
  
Sam tilts his head and crosses his arms. “You know about the crocodile?”  
  
“I know about most things in this forest,” she replies. “You touched Indrajalika’s bones.”  
  
“Who—?”  
  
“In – druh – jaa – leeka,” Rajni says. She hesitates. “Look, I don’t have the time to guide you through the supernatural—”  
  
“We know all about it,” Sam interrupts her. “Monsters, demons, everything paranormal — so, who’s this Indrajalika?” He is sure to get the name right this time.  
  
“She’s an enchantress,” Rajni says, unperturbed by Sam’s revelation. “Once you touch her bones, you get trapped in her home, and then she tries to kill you. I assume you touched the bones, and your brother followed you here.”  
  
“How do you know that?”  
  
“She only attacks the one who lays hands on her remains — I don’t think she can see anyone who follows by any other method. She set the crocodile on you, and not your brother, because she can’t see him.” Rajni pauses, and bites her lip. “I followed my sister here too, and I’ve never been attacked by Indrajalika.”  
  
Sam buries another cough and looks around for a sister, but can’t find one. “Why did she stop hunting your sister?” he asks Rajni.  
  
“If you stay put in one place, you don’t get hunted. My sister, Praatha, hasn’t been out of the cottage ever since we settled ourselves here. And I can’t be attacked unless it’s something like these pomegranates.”  
  
“So the forest is—”  
  
“— Indrajalika’s home, yes. She’s made-up all of this. It’s not real, but it’s real enough,” Rajni says. “What you’re eating is not actual food, but it can suppress real hunger. And even everything that’s happening here — it’s not real, but it will physically affect your body — wherever you are. So if you die here, you actually die.”  
  
“So you’re not real,” Sam concludes.  
  
“I exist somewhere,” she shrugs, “probably cremated long ago by my family, so I’m just dust out there. But I continue to live here. What happens out there in the real world can’t affect you here, you see.”  
  
 _This is messed up_ , Sam thinks, but it also explains why he isn’t still coughing up blood, even though he’s sick enough right now. He doesn’t trust Rajni, but what she says sounds legit. If he and Dean had never explored the forest, never swam across that lake, Sam would be all right — healthy.   
  
He turns to his brother, who is watching them, his mouth open and his eyes wide.   
  
“Dean?”  
  
Dean blinks, looks at Sam, but turns his gaze to Rajni, who glances at him, and breaks into another smile. “Come on, is this the first time you’re seeing a woman?” she reprimands Dean lightly.   
  
Dean blinks again, and seems to snap out of it. He clears his throat awkwardly. “Um… sorry.”  
  
She turns to Sam again. “You ate the pomegranate, didn’t you? You need to come with me and take the antidote quickly.”  
  
“Have you seen the others who got trapped as well?” Sam asks Rajni, ignoring her words.  
  
“There were others?” Rajni asks him.  
  
“Apparently, quite a lot of people have died.”  
  
“Then they must have died before getting here,” she says, “or I would have noticed. I come here to get water every day.”  
  
“Yeah, but how do we trust you?” Dean asks, his voice low and slightly weak. Sam eyes his brother suspiciously. What’s going on with Dean?  
  
Rajni grins, and walks to Dean.  Her anklets chink innocently. Then she puts a slender finger on his stubbled cheek. “Sweetheart, if I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t tell you about the pomegranates.” She looks at Sam. “It looks like your brother is already showing symptoms. You need to hurry.”  
  
And that’s when Sam feels sudden darkness close in on him.

**~o~**

  
Dean’s head feels like cotton — light and fluffy — and he doesn’t quite understand what he is doing in the middle of a forest. His brother is talking to Rajni beside him, and he’s heard snippets of their conversation. An enchantress… her bones… Rajni’s sister, who has a weird name. There’s a scent emanating from Rajni which makes Dean all the more dizzy and lightheaded, and he doesn’t realise Sam is talking to him until Rajni tells him off lightly for staring at her. And that’s when he snaps out of it.  
  
His arms and legs feel loose, as though someone’s trying to wrench them away from his body, but painlessly — gently. His head is spinning, and everything is blurring around him. Rajni puts a finger to his cheek. Her skin is very soft, and Dean sighs as she turns and talks to Sam again.  
  
That’s when Sam collapses to the forest floor for the second time that day.  
  
“Sam? Sammy?” Dean is out of his reverie in a second, only to see Sam lie there, still for a moment, until his body arches back and his eyes roll upwards. Then he starts to seize. He goes full grand mal: arms and legs thrashing and shoulders shrugging violently.   
  
“Oh God, oh God,” Dean mutters, falling to his knees, as Rajni crouches before him. Dean presses his one of his brother’s flailing arms down and rolls him over to his side, bending his leg at the knee and holding it down against Sam’s other leg.  
  
“It’s the poison,” Rajni is saying, but Dean isn’t listening. He can feel his brother’s ample body jerking under his hands and even though he’s seen Sam seize too many times in the last few years, he isn’t used to it.  
  
“Sammy, be okay, be okay,” he chants, holding his brother down with all the strength he can muster.  _Please, please, don’t die on me, I’ll take care of you, get that fucking poison right out of your system. Come on, Sammy._  
  
“Just wait for it to pass,” Rajni soothes him. “The antidote will help, I promise.”  
  
“And where—” Dean begins with gritted teeth, shifting a little while still holding Sam down. “Where’s the antidote?”  
  
“It’s in my cottage. You’ll have to come with me.”  
  
He has no choice, Dean thinks, as Sam finally stops seizing. With a last shudder, he becomes limp under Dean’s hands, and takes a deep, rattling breath as he does so. Dean rolls him over to his back and sees a thin stream of blood trickling down the corner of Sam’s mouth, indicating that he has bitten his tongue. He sighs and raises his hand to wipe it away with his sleeve. This is going to hurt like a bitch when Sam wakes up.  
  
“So what do you say?” Rajni asks, and Dean notices a softness in her eyes at his gesture of cleaning the blood away. “Will you come? I can get him something for his tongue too.”  
  
Dean contemplates her offer. If this woman is telling the truth, he and Sam will remain alive to escape the effects of this poison. But if she’s lying, they’ll die, but either way, that is the fate that threatens Sam in this place — unless they hole up and stay in one spot forever like this woman says, and Dean knows that they’ll never be able to do that. They need to keep moving. Stasis was never their thing. Besides, if the antidote does work, maybe they can even get to this Indrajalika and destroy her.  
  
So he nods. “Yeah, yeah. Okay.” Then he turns back to his brother, and feels for his carotid. It’s beating strong under his fingers. Smoothing Sam’s hair back with his palm, Dean puts a hand on his shoulder and waits for him to wake up. He’s been through these motions too many times to try and shake Sam awake. He knows he needs to wait.  
  
It takes a few minutes, but Sam groans, and Dean releases a breath he never realised he’d been holding. “Sammy?”  
  
“Mmm,” Sam replies, eyelids fluttering and opening, while the blue-green spheres beneath swivel over and find Dean’s face. He lets out a rattling cough, and he tongues his dry lips, grimacing when he encounters dried blood in the corner of his mouth.  
  
“Hey,” Dean says, rubbing his knuckles against Sam’s chest, “you’re okay.”  
  
Sam sighs, coughs again, and groans. “Dean?”  
  
“Right here, Sammy,” Dean soothes him. He squeezes Sam’s shoulder reassuringly and hopes that Sam can recover soon. They have to move from here and get the antidote as quickly as they can.   
  
“Is he sick?” Rajni asks Dean, her eyebrows arching.  
  
“I – I think he is,” Dean replies. “Actually, I’m pretty sure he is.” He watches Sam sit up and support himself with a palm against the grass, while the other hand goes to wipe away the residual blood from the side of his mouth.  
  
“How long has he been this way?” Rajni asks again.  
  
Dean doesn’t reply as Sam murmurs to him. “Dean?”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean crouches closer to his brother.  
  
“Bi’ my t’ng.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Dean replies. “It’s okay. Take a few minutes to relax. Rajni here has something for your tongue too.”  
  
Confused eyes turn to the woman beside Dean, registering that she’s still there. Sam bends over, spits out blood, and looks back at Dean. “’S tr’stwory?” He whispers so quietly, Dean has to bend over really close to hear. He can see the frustration starting to build on Sam’s face at the fact that it’s hard for him to speak.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Dean says to him. He pauses. “You ready to move?”  
  
Sam takes a deep breath, rubs his knuckles over his eyes, and nods. Dean and Rajni stand up and Dean helps his brother up as well. As soon as Sam is steady on his feet, Rajni wordlessly begins to lead the way.  
  
As they walk through the thicket, strips of moonlight fall on them here and there, and the only sounds are the hooting of owls and Sam’s coughing. Dean hopes he’s made the right decision by trusting Rajni. All he wants is for Sam to get better so that they can fight this enchantress and get the hell out of this place. He’s pretty sure he hates Forbidden Forest now. 

**~o~**

  
Rajni’s cottage is a modest little haven, built with dried leaves and mud in the shelter of trees. Sam can only imagine how long it would have taken her and her sister to build their home in this place. The entrance is guarded by what looks like a mesh of interwoven leaves and Rajni requests Sam and Dean to leave their footwear outside. They oblige, Sam watches Rajni and Dean duck into the little house, before following.  
  
He enters to a whiff of jasmine which immediately sends him into another brief dizzy spell, and when his vision clears, he sees a woman seated in a corner of the cramped hut. The room inside is small, and the roof brushes Sam’s hair, so he has to bow his head when he moves. The woman rises when she sees them. She looks exactly like Rajni and is equally beautiful. Silver anklets jingle as she smiles and takes a step forward.  
  
“You brought guests,” she tells Rajni, and her voice is much softer, much clearer than her sister’s.  
  
“They ate the pomegranates. We have the antidote ready, right?”  
  
“We do,” the twin sister replies. She smiles at Sam, and then at Dean. “I’m Praatha.”  
  
Sam is about to open his mouth to reply, when Dean speaks for them. “I’m Dean, and this is my brother, Sam.”  
  
Sam nods at her, relieved that he doesn’t have to use his stinging tongue. The bleeding has stopped, but he’s still not sure he wants to try and talk.  
  
“Please sit,” Praatha says, before going down on her knees and reaching for a bundle of leaves on the side. “I’ll soon have the antidote ready.”  
  
Rajni settles beside her sister, to help her spread out some herbs on a rock that has been cleaned with water. Praatha takes a large stone and starts to crush the leaves and herbs, mixing them with her finger, and her dark eyes concentrate on her job. Rajni, in the meantime, is grinding something else on another stone — and Sam guesses it’s for his tongue.  
  
Sam and Dean take their places in the other corner, as far away from the twins as possible. Dean’s eyes keep swivelling over to Rajni as she works, and finally, after several minutes of silence but for the grinding, Praatha looks up.  
  
“It’s ready,” she says, and Sam and Dean move closer, as she scoops up the paste and hands some to each brother.   
  
It feels warm in Sam’s hands. He eyes Dean, who nods at him, and together, they lick the paste off. It tastes… leafy and slimy as it slides down Sam’s throat, and he coughs again. Praatha gestures to a bowl of water beside her. The bowl is made of dried leaves. Sam picks it up and drinks down the liquid, feeling better. And then he sits back.  
  
“You’re sick,” Praatha tells him, when he’s settled.  
  
“’M fine.”  
  
“It happened to me too,” she continues, ignoring his words. “It’s one of Indrajalika’s tricks.”  
  
“Then how did you get better?” Dean asks her, frowning, and Sam is once again grateful for his brother's intuitiveness.  
  
Praatha’s beautiful face breaks into a smile at Dean’s words. “Rajni and I know our way with herbs. If you stay for a few days, we can make you better.” She nods at Sam’s leg. “We can cure the bite too.”  
  
Sam glances at Dean, but then shakes his head. He doesn’t want to depend on these women for anything. Dean might think they’re trustworthy, and Sam generally goes with Dean’s judgement, but Dean could be wrong.    
  
“No,” he says, “th’nks.”  
  
Dean turns to him, frowning. “Sam—”  
  
Sam shakes his head again. He wants to find the enchantress, destroy her, and get out of this place. Dean’s eyes search his for a moment. His elder brother sighs. “Look, man, I just want you to be okay.”  
  
Sam nods. He’ll be okay. They just need to get out of this place. He tries to look as reassuring as he can about his health, so Dean won’t worry. Rajni finishes her own work. Scooping up the paste into a leaf, she comes over to Sam.   
  
“Here. For your tongue. This will soothe it.”  
  
Sam fingers some reluctantly, and dabs it onto the cut. It’s cold in his mouth — icy, almost, and some of the pain is relieved. He sighs.  
  
“Looks like he’s feeling better,” Rajni says to Dean, and she smiles.  
  
Dean doesn’t pay heed to her. “You better, Sammy?”  
  
Sam nods at his brother, and smiles. Maybe these women are not evil. Too bad, that if Sam and Dean do manage to destroy Indrajalika, the sisters will die too.  
  
Sam sits back against the wall and yawns. Beside him, Dean stretches, and makes to get up. “Hey,” he says to the sisters, as Sam prepares himself to stand up too, “thanks, but we should get going.”  
  
Rajni raises an eyebrow. “Why are you leaving?”  
  
Dean shrugs. “We’re not the stay-in-one-place kind of people. We appreciate your help, but we should go. Sammy?”  
  
Despite his protesting body, Sam gets on his feet, but Praatha speaks to him. “I know you’re tired. You’re sick too. You can rest at our place and leave in the morning.”  
  
“No thanks,” Dean replies, but Praatha interrupts him.  
  
“The offer is for you too. And your brother is very tired. Are you going to make him walk more?”  
  
Dean frowns. “Sammy, you can walk some, can’t you?”  
  
Sam nods, and then yawns again. Rajni chuckles at that. “We won’t eat you up, Dean. You can trust us. Ask your brother if he isn’t feeling better already.”  
  
Dean glances another time at Sam just in time to catch another yawn, and a reluctant, tiny nod. Sam does feel much better, and he knows that things will improve if he rests. But he trusts Dean’s instincts too, and if Dean feels they should leave, he won’t object.   
  
Dean, however, resigns once he’s looked at Sam. “Fine. But only because my brother is tired. We’ll leave as soon as it’s morning.”  
  
“No problem.”  
  
Sam watches Dean rub a hand down his face and yawn a little himself, before moving back and settling against the wall, beside Sam. He smiles at his brother.  
  
“You can sleep, Sam. I’ll be awake.”  
  
“T’nks,” Sam manages with his excruciatingly painful tongue, before he shuts his eyes, letting the strings of sleep pull him under, into a blissful world.

  
**~o~**

**~o~**   


  
  
_“Cas!”_   
  
_He’s reaching out to the angel, and their hands connect._   
  
_“I’ve got you, hold on!”_   
  
_Castiel grips Dean’s wrist tighter, straining against gravity, and Dean pulls harder. “Hold on!”_   
  
_And then, all of a sudden, Castiel’s warm hand lets go of Dean, and he pulls away. “Dean. Go!”_

**_—_ **

  
_They’ve found the angel tablet and Dean’s on his knees, face stinging. The air reeks of blood and plain, bare wrath._   
  
_“We’re family,” Dean says. “We need you. I need you.”_   
  
_The familiarly warm, rough hand lands on Dean’s face, against his cheek…_

**—**

  
“CAS!”  
  
Dean opens his eyes with a start, his breathing ragged and his heart thudding against his chest. Sweat pours down his forehead in swirls and he feels very warm and thirsty. He begins to realise that he was dreaming and relief pours in, when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He flinches.  
  
“Easy,” Rajni whispers beside him, and he turns, noticing her crouched figure in the darkness around them. She pats his shoulder. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Bad dream,” Dean mutters. He notices Sam’s dark outline on the other side and hears his brother’s snores, mixed with the long, rattling breaths from the coughing. His breathing seems to have eased a bit, and Dean is relieved. Sam murmurs something under his breath and Dean can hear him snuffle as he shifts a bit and continues to sleep.  
  
“Want to sit outside for a while?” Rajni asks him softly.  Her head turns towards Sam, and then back to Dean. “You might feel better. The discomfort is from the antidote trying to fight the poison in your system.”  
  
Dean ponders over it, and glances at the doorway, which lets in a small slice of moonlight. Sitting outside will definitely make him feel better, and he can be alert for Sam too, without going too far away.  “Just outside here, then,” he agrees in a whisper.  
  
Rajni gets to her feet with a rustle of clothes, and Dean makes sure his jacket is wrapped properly around Sam before following her outside. The moon is bright, shining boldly upon them through the trees, and the grass is moist and soft under his bare feet. Ahead of him, Rajni, a silhouette in the moonlight, holds out her hand to him.  
  
He takes it — without knowing why — and he smells the jasmines again.  He smells  _her_ , and together, they sit down on the forest floor. An owl hoots tiredly and Dean glances again at Rajni, whose dark eyes are shining in the silvery light around them. She turns to him. “Tell me about your brother.”  
  
“Sammy?” Dean asks her in a low voice. She nods and comes forward, bending close to him, and he leans in to listen.  
  
She comes close enough that her lips touch Dean’s ear, and he feels a tantalising tickle on his lobe, before she whispers in a husky voice,  _“Marmamaya vadeh meh.”_  
  
And then her lips trace a line from his lobe to his jaw, before they finally find his lips.

**~o~**

  
Sam shifts in his sleep and grips his jacket tighter. He feels an ache in his body — a dull throb, spreading through his arms, legs, torso… and a sharp, shooting pain at the site of the crocodile bite. He moves his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and finds that it’s almost completely healed. He can’t feel the cut, and though it’s slightly painful, it feels whole… like he’d never bitten it.  
  
That’s when he opens his eyes. Goosebumps spread through his body as he feels the tongue again. This isn’t possible. Hadn’t the sisters just given him herbal medicine? It’s natural — not magical. Then… how did his tongue heal?  
  
He hears movement on his side, and he watches a dark outline make its way towards him. He wants to move, but the familiar scent of jasmine hits his nostrils, and he feels extremely dizzy. And then he feels someone’s breath in his ear, and recognises Praatha’s voice as she speaks.  
  
 _“Marmamaya vadeh meh.”_

**~o~**

  
Light kisses are dusted on Dean’s neck, and Rajni looks up, cups his face, and connects her lips with his again. Her tongue clashes against his and he responds enthusiastically, feeling the light brush against his lower lip, and she pulls away, kisses the border of his mouth, goes down to his chin and to his throat, and makes him gasp.  
  
He watches as she slides down the dress and guides his hands to her full breasts. She puts her legs on either side of him, stretching herself, so that she can go lower while he still touches her breasts, fondling them. Her fingers then start to work on the button of his jeans. He hears the zipper come undone and a rush of air as she pulls at the elastic of the waistband of his boxers and slides a hand in.  
  
Dean gasps, his heart beating fast at the feel of her hand, and then she traces tantalising circles, causing him to gasp again as something explodes inside of him. He bites his lips so hard they’re on the verge of bleeding. Slowly, she removes her hand, readjusts his boxers, and lowers herself, so she’s laying on him. He sees nothing, but her beautiful face hovering over his. He wants more — he wants another taste of the pleasure, but she smiles, and he knows, somewhere deep in his mind, that he’s trapped. He smells jasmine again, and Rajni is a blend of colours over him. She speaks again.  
  
“So, tell me, Dean. Tell me all about yourself.”

**~o~**

  
“No, no,” Sam shifts his face away from Praatha’s before her lips can close in on his. His head is spinning, and he feels sick. He also knows that something’s horribly wrong.  
  
“Talk to me, Sam,” she says, coming ahead, taking his hand, and he jerks it away from hers.   
  
“I sh-should go.”  
  
“Stay,” she murmurs, and her soft fingers trace his jaw, and then his neck. He shivers and pushes her away.  
  
“Let me go.” If he’s honest, her offer is so damned tempting, he’s willing to stay here the rest of his life, but that’s the part that terrifies him. That’s what assures him that something is wrong. Rajni and Praatha have been using something on him and Dean. Some kind of magic. And now Sam’s sure that Dean is with Rajni, and he hopes that his brother hasn’t given in to her.  
  
“Sam…” He smells the jasmine again and gets to his feet as quickly as he can. Swaying, he watches Praatha get up too. He can see two of her, and she’s blurred around the edges, but somehow he stumbles to the door .  He can see the moonlight coming in, and he pushes the door open and gets out, only to see Rajni laying naked on Dean — talking to him.

**~o~**

  
“You’re scared that your brother’s going to die at the end of the trials.”  
  
It isn’t a question; it’s a statement. Rajni is still laying on Dean and his hands aren’t on her breasts anymore, but he can barely understand what she’s saying. The scent of jasmines is particularly strong from where he is, and she is still a combination of muted colours, grinning down at him.  
  
“I know he’ll do it,” Dean says, and he wonders why he’s telling her this, but he feels like he should. “I’m scared he won’t recover later.”  
  
“Well,” Rajni shifts, pushing her hair behind her ears, “you don’t have to worry about that anymore. Once I help heal him, he can die healthy over here.”  
  
“Don’t want him to die.”  
  
“Oh, you don’t have a choice, honey. You have to die. Both of you. Don’t you see—?”  
  
 _“Dean!”_  
  
The voice is distant and muffled, and Dean almost doesn’t recognise its owner for once. Sam’s large hands appear out of nowhere and push Rajni aside. Dean hears her shriek, and the same hands grab at his arm.   
  
“We’ve gotta get out of here!”  
  
Rajni comes back before Dean can move, and there’s a scuffle. She’s stronger than she looks and Dean sits up, watching them. Rajni manages to overpower Sam and her slender hands go around his neck, squeezing hard.  
  
Dean’s body fires into action, and he gets up, sways, rushes towards them, and throws her off. “Geroff m’brother!” he mumbles.  He starts to get back to her, but Sam tugs at his arm.  
  
“Let’s get out of here! C’mon!”  
  
Dean watches Rajni sit up, and her eyes are bright orange when she looks at him, the rage evident in her features. He is about to ignore Sam and charge at her, but Sam pulls him away, running in the other direction. He follows Sam into the thicket, partly unaware of what they’re doing, but mostly realising that they’re running away. Dean twists around to look at Rajni , but she doesn’t follow.  
  
They run for a couple of hours and Sam can’t go on any longer so they stop. Dean is indignant at being seduced so easily, and he expresses his frustration as Sam lays down on the grass with a sigh. “She used us, Sammy!” he says angrily. “She tried to have sex with me! Bitch!”  
  
“Well,” Sam yawns, turning on his side so he’s facing Dean, “it’s actually pretty smart of them. They used the one weakness that most men have in common.”  
  
“I’m not weak,” Dean retorts, and Sam’s eyes are already closing, so he shuts up and lets Sam sleep. God knows what other damage the kid is suffering now — the medicines probably weren’t even authentic, although the progress on Sam’s tongue wound says otherwise.  
  
Sam sleeps for a while, trusting Dean to keep a watch. Dean’s mostly recovered from whatever happened back at the cottage and he remembers snippets of everything that he told Rajni. He knows that she and Praatha can catch up at any time. Running away probably wasn’t the best idea, but it was acceptable for that particular moment. They now need a plan to tackle these women when they face them again.   
  
Dean sits there and watches dawn arrive: darkness give away to light, as the stars start to disappear. The owl hoots are replaced by the chirp of sparrows and the caw of crows. There’s no sign of the women yet, but Dean thinks about the information they gave him — about an enchantress — and wonders if it was authentic. He’s still  trying to remember everything they’d said, when Sam starts to groan beside him. Dean’s attention turns to his brother immediately, and he watches Sam wake up.  
  
“D-Dean?” Sam sounds confused, so Dean makes sure he’s in his brother’s line of vision. Blue-green eyes search the area briefly before finding Dean, but the pain lines between them don’t vanish.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Dean asks, remembering that he was quite sick the previous day.  
  
Sam raises a huge paw to his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Like crap,” he croaks, and then pauses.  His hand lowers and eyes grow wide.   
  
“What is it?” Dean asks him, catching the expression at once. This looks like it’s bad. Oh God…  
  
Sam hesitates, bites his lip, and clenches his jaw once. Then the pain lines slowly turns to worry lines, as he sighs. “Something’s really wrong, Dean…”  
  
“What?” Dean asks him cautiously.  
  
Sam takes his time to answer. “I… I can’t feel my legs.”


	5. Chapter 5

 

“I… I can’t feel my legs.”  
  
Dean stares at Sam for a long moment. A monarch butterfly whizzes past them innocently and Dean blinks at it before turning back and replying to Sam hoarsely. “Well, fuck.”  
  
“That’s all you’ve got to say?”  
  
Dean runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Sam. This isn’t getting any better. What are we supposed to do now?”  
  
“We have to get out of here,” Sam provides, trying to sit up. Dean drags himself over and helps his brother, resting him against a tree. Then Dean crosses his arms.  
  
“I can’t carry you, Sam,” he says. He really can’t. He knows he made a promise to Sam a few weeks ago, but that was figurative. Dean can’t literally carry Sam — not unless he wants to break his spine.  
  
“I’m not asking you to,” Sam says, flashing his bitchface at Dean. “But those women—”  
  
Dean picks up the tree branches he’d managed to sharpen overnight — like stakes — and waves them at Sam. “If they come back, we’ll use these.”  
  
“Think that’ll kill them? I doubt they’re human.”  
  
“What do you think they were?”  
  
“Witches would be my first guess,” Sam replies. “That Praatha lady whispered something into my ear before she—” he looks away, blushing slightly. “Anyway,” he continues, after clearing his throat, “it wasn’t Latin.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Dean agrees. “The other chick said something in my ear too.”  
  
“Did you catch it?” Sam asks Dean, looking hopeful.  
  
“No,” Dean replies. “It wasn’t Latin and I have no clue what other language it could be. The last word though…” he screws up his face, “was ‘ _meh’_.”  
  
Sam purses his lips, and then shakes his head slowly. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”  
  
Dean racks his brain too, trying to match anything he’s heard of, that sounded similar — from Bobby, or Cas… but there’s nothing. He licks his lips. “Anyway. Witches are usually human, so these should still work,” he says. Then he puts the stakes aside and sits back on his haunches for a while before going to test Sam’s legs.  
  
As it turns out, Sam is paralysed waist-down. He can’t feel his legs, or move them, or wiggle his toes — nothing. There’s no way of moving him either. And he’s too tired and sick to be upset about it (the coughing hasn’t stopped and he’s running a slight fever). So Dean reluctantly leaves him alone to go look for more food.  
  
The pomegranates didn’t kill them — either that, or the antidote was real — but Dean gathers other fruits anyway, because he doesn’t want to risk him and Sam dying sooner than he's destined. Sam’s delirious by the time he gets back (fuck, when did the fever get that bad?) and Dean gets him to eat some before letting him sleep.   
  
Sam sleeps like a freaking log after that. He doesn’t move or squirm — doesn’t even snore — and he’s burning up pretty badly, so Dean is worried. Sometimes Sam’s so still, so quiet, that Dean has to test his carotid just to be sure he hasn’t died (and it terrifies Dean every time).   
  
Dean thinks of ways to move Sam from this place as he munches on fruits to keep his strength up. He tries waking Sam up for lunch but Sam doesn’t budge. So Dean eats alone, without appetite, and watches his sick brother. Once he’s done stuffing an apple down his throat,  he sits watch again, waiting for Sam to wake up, and this continues for a few more hours, until Sam finally makes a sound.  
  
It’s a whimper at first.  
  
Dean diverts his attention to his brother immediately. “Sammy?”  
  
Sam’s forehead wrinkles in pain, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Instead, he lets out a shiver. Dean tentatively reaches a hand and shakes him. “Sam.”  
  
Sam moans in response, and then opens his eyes suddenly. “Dean! Whaaa—?”  
  
“Hey, relax,” Dean says as Sam starts to sit up, and he puts a palm against Sam’s chest to keep him down. “How’re you feeling?” A bird twitters somewhere and Dean thinks it would sound damn adorable if he weren’t so worried about Sam’s wellbeing.  
  
Sam screws his eyes shut for a moment, shivers a little, and opens them before replying, “Like crap.”  
  
Dean licks his lips. “Wanna try eating something? You might feel better.”  
  
Sam grimaces. “Not sure if it will stay down.”  
  
“Just try,” Dean says softly. “Where does it hurt?”  
  
“Everywhere that I have sensation,” says Sam.  
  
Dean doesn’t know what to do or say to that. He just helps Sam sit up and rest against a tree, and feels his brother’s forehead with the back of his palm. Sam is still very warm, and he lets out a shiver when Dean backs away.  
  
“Cold?” Dean asks, but he knows that Sam must be freezing.  
  
Sam nods jerkily, pulls his and Dean’s jackets closer, and shakes with more shivers. Dean washes a hand down his face. “I could get some more firewood, but…”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Sam says to him. “Can you get the wood? Please?”  
  
Dean doesn’t need to see Sam’s puppy eyes to feel awful for the kid. He nods, and stands up. “Yeah, yeah. I’m nearby, so holler if there’s anything, okay? Be careful.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
Hesitantly, Dean leaves, and finds the wood as quickly as he can. When he returns, Sam’s body is wracking with shivers, and Dean has to hurry to start the fire. He’s very, very relieved when it sparks, and, after much cursing, he has a successfully built fire.  
  
Sam heaves a sigh of relief when the flames hiss up, and he watches the amber light for a moment before gratefully raising his palms to warm them. His hands shake as he holds them before the fire, but he smiles at Dean. “Hey, thanks.”  
  
Dean just smiles back at him, and warms his own hands, but then he’s not cold, so he withdraws them immediately. They sit for a while, in complete silence, except for the hissing of the flames, with Sam warming himself and Dean watching him with several questions running through his head. He can’t understand — how the fuck do they get out of here? Who were Rajni and Praatha? Is that Indrawhatsit chick real?  
  
There are too many questions and no answers. And Dean needs the answers now. He needs to save Sam. He won’t forgive himself if he loses his brother to something like this.  
  
Dean is so lost in his thoughts; he almost doesn’t notice the shape that the fire is taking. He sees Sam stiffen beside him, and it is when he turns back to the fire that he sees the flames rearrange themselves into a human figure.

**~o~**

  
At first, Sam thinks he’s just too sick, and that he’s seeing things. The flames before him look odd, and he feels as though his head is spinning. As he lowers his hand momentarily from the heat of the fire, he notices something odd. The flames look like a hand.  
  
And then, quite suddenly, there’s a head, a torso, and two arms — and Sam thinks he might be dreaming because the figure before him looks…  _human_.   
  
 _What the fuck?_  
  
Beside him, Dean frowns at Sam and turns around, only to gasp a little himself. “What the fuck is this?” he mutters, voicing Sam’s thoughts. Sam is struck again by how he and Dean can seem to read each other’s minds sometimes. But it’s thirty years of knowing each other that’s coming into play here.  
  
He takes his mind off those thoughts and swallows. If Dean can see it too — the weird fire — then he, Sam, definitely isn’t hallucinating. So what new horror is this? Dean is getting ready to stand up, when a voice hisses from the flames.  
  
 _“Sam Winchester.”_  
  
Sam’s wraps his arms around himself, heart beating fast, and the newfound warmth leaves him at once. How does… this thing know his name? The figure continues. “You have come very far.”  
  
Sam opens his mouth, and shuts it again, having lost his voice, but Dean speaks up hoarsely. “Who are you?”  
  
“You are almost at your goal,” the fire figure — or whatever — replies.   
  
Dean gets to his knees, apparently not wanting to stand up and leave Sam down, but at the same time, not wanting to stay down. “What do you mean? What the hell are you?”  
  
“I can relieve you,” it mutters.  
  
“Of what?” Sam finally finds his voice.  
  
“Of everything. Your sickness. Your worldly woes. Your burdens.”  
  
Sam raises an eyebrow. “And you’re doing that because…?”  
  
“You need to sacrifice something,” says the figure, ignoring Sam’s question.  
  
There it is. Just a fucking demon deal with a more impressive presentation. Sam rolls his eyes and turns his attention to the soft grass under him. No, no more deals. He and Dean have decided on that. If this place can be gotten out of, then they will do it another way — without anyone’s soul or life at stake.  
  
Dean seems to have read Sam’s thoughts again, as he lets out a huff and speaks to the fire figure. “Nice try, dude, but he ain’t sacrificing nothing.”  
  
“It’s the only way to kill her,” replies the… well,  _fire_.  
  
Sam raises his eyebrow, paying attention now. “Who—?”  
  
“— Indrajalika.”  
  
Sam folds his arms. “And what kind of sacrifice are we talking here exactly?” He knows he won’t like the answer, but there’s no harm in trying. However, he can’t understand what a sacrifice has got to do with destroying Indrajalika.  
  
“What is most precious,” says the fire plainly, in reply to Sam’s question. “If you do it, she will be destroyed — and I can save your life.”  
  
Sam frowns. What is most precious… they don’t have any money with them, and money is far from the most precious thing he owns. And it’s not like he and Dean have much of that either. So there’s just one thing with him right now, that he can give, and that is valuable — his life.   
  
He clears his throat. “So… if I die, I’ll live?”  
  
“Your life is not the most precious to you.”  
  
Dean seems to have had enough of it. “Hey, look, man, whoever you are—”  
  
“I am  _Agni_ ,” replies the fire.   
  
“Well, okay,  _Agni_ , my brother ain’t falling for that shit, all right? We’ll find the witch and destroy her by ourselves. So thanks, but no thanks.”  
  
Agni speaks directly to Dean this time. “I know about the burdens that your brother carries.”  
  
“Yeah—?”  
  
“He has undertaken a great responsibility,” Agni continues. “He aims to erase all evil from the face of the earth.”  
  
Dean is momentarily speechless at that. “You know that,  _how_?” he finally sputters.  
  
“He is very ill,” Agni says, ignoring that question. “I can take away his illness, and he can do what he endeavours to do without any obstacles. I just need a sacrifice.”  
  
“Why do you need a sacrifice?” Sam asks Agni. “What has that got to do with Indrajalika?”  
  
“I cannot explain it to you right now,” Agni replies to him calmly. “However, you will find out in due time. You have my word.”  
  
“Okay,” says Sam, “so you need what’s most precious — or whatever — but me giving up my life isn’t enough? You think I value something else more?”  
  
“You do, indeed,” Agni replies, and Sam doesn’t have to wrack his brains to understand what he means. He grits his teeth.  
  
“No.”

**~o~**

  
At first, Dean wonders what Sam has figured out, and watches his brother tighten his arms around himself in refusal. “No.” A cool breeze blows over and Agni sways with it, and for a moment, Dean wants to smile at the dancing figure before him.  
  
“No,” Sam repeats, glaring at Agni. “You can’t have that. Anything but that.”  
  
“Then I cannot help destroy Indrajalika. You will die soon.”  
  
“Fine, whatever,” Sam snaps at him. “I’ll die then — that’s fine — but I’m not giving you—” He swallows. “No deal. You can go away now.”  
  
Dean narrows his eyes at his younger brother. “Sam, what are you talking about? What does he want?”  
  
“Nevermind, Dean,” Sam says, lower jaw working at top speed. “Go,” he urges Agni, and that’s when Dean understands. He gets what Agni wants, and what Sam is refusing to give.  
  
Agni nods at Sam. “As you wish.” Dean stands up from his place.  
  
“Wait!” he says, as the flames begin to flicker. “Wait.”  
  
The figure before him becomes solid again, and Dean kneels down to Sam’s level, the grass beneath him tickling his bare kneecaps. “Sam, it’s okay,” he says. “Take it. Take the deal.”  
  
“What?” Sam asks Dean incredulously, screwing up his face in exasperation. “Are you fucking crazy, man? And how do we even know that this is worth it? That we won’t be manipulated, like  _every_  other time?”  
  
“No, no, listen—”  
  
“I thought we’d decided on this,” Sam continues, spreading his arms apart like he always does when he’s starting to get pissed. “No deals! Remember what happened the last time?!”  
  
“Better than you do,” Dean retorts. He turns to Agni. “If I say yes, do I go to Hell?”  
  
“No,” the figure says, “you will be reborn. In another life, in another home, in another family. You will face another destiny.”  
  
“What destiny?”   
  
“It depends on your deeds.”  
  
“ _What?_ ” Dean narrows his eyes, not understanding anything. “Just tell me, man — Heaven or Hell? Or Purgatory?”  
  
“Not Hell,” replies Agni firmly. “You will not go to Hell or Heaven or Purgatory. You will be back on this earth as a human being.”  
  
“And if I do this — you’ll cure my brother?” Dean asks him again. “That’s a promise?”  
  
“I will keep my word.”  
  
Dean purses his lips. “I need to know that you ain’t lying.”  
  
Agni nods, and bends forward, a fiery arm extending outwards, reaching Sam… and Sam gasps, eyes widening as an orange finger touches his forehead. Agni then stands back up, and waits, and Dean watches his brother intently.  
  
“You okay, Sammy?”  
  
Sam gives him a numb look, before slowly flexing his thigh and placing a hand on his knee. Dean almost lets out a triumphant hoorah when he realises that Sam can move his legs again. And almost immediately, the dark circles under his eyes disappear, purple fading to the regular colour of his skin, as his face changes from a ghastly white shade to its original, healthy colour.   
  
Sam looks perfectly fine —  as healthy as when they first arrived in this place, as Dean has craved to see him for what seems like forever.  
  
“He will live well,” Agni supplies, as Dean finally diverts his attention from his brother. “He can live a full, healthy life. The trials won’t weaken him anymore.”  
  
Dean bites his lip. If Sam is going to be okay after this — if everything can change, then Dean is okay — Dean is willing to go ahead. He had wondered if Agni was lying about being able to cure Sam, but he’s seen it — and Sam’s all right — Sam’s fit as a fiddle now, so should he say yes?   
  
“Dean, no,” Sam says from beside him. “We’ll figure out a way, man. You said it.”  
  
Dean turns to him, a smile forming on his lips. “Sam,” he begins, playing with a loose thread on his rolled-up sleeve, “you’re okay.”  
  
“And I will be okay once we get out of here, and when I can finish the trials,” Sam reasons. “You don’t need to do this.”  
  
“No, Sammy, think about it,” Dean says in a resigned voice. “I went to Purgatory, and everything was okay. You were happy, man. And now, ever since I’ve been back—”  
  
Sam shakes his head and swallows. “I would have had to come back to this life sooner or later. You can never get out of it. You  _know_ , Dean.”  
  
“Still…” Dean sighs. “Get out of here. Finish those trials — this dude says they won’t affect your health anymore. And then, you can go back to your girl. You can go back to college. By staying here, you’re only going to get sicker, and both of us are going to die. There’s no need for that.”   
  
Sam narrows his eyes. “You say this as if the trials are the only things that matter to me.”  
  
Dean shrugs. “Come on, Sam, you can do just fine without me.” He isn’t pissed. He isn’t dragging up their past fights. He’s just citing the truth. He hopes that Sam won’t take it the wrong way. He’s not capable of having a chick-flick moment and explain to Sam the whole reason behind this — because he’s just tired: of having to constantly worry about Sam’s health, of Cas being weird, of the angel and demon tablets, of Crowley… of every fucking thing that their life is right now.  If they can wrap it all up in a neat ribbon with no lasting damage, it’s just freaking fantastic.  
  
“Don’t,” Sam croaks. “I left that life. I left it all—”  
  
“Go back to it,” Dean insists. “I just want you to be happy, Sam.”  
  
Sam clenches his jaw and looks away, shaking his head. He fiddles with his long fingers for a while. “No.”  
  
Agni speaks up from the flames, flickering, sparks flying about as his deep voice rumbles, “I think the decision is made, then.”  
  
“No,” Dean says firmly, and then turns back to Sam. “Let me go. It’s the only way to be done with this hunt, and fix everything else.”  
  
“Dean—” Sam swallows, “Dean, I’m sorry you’re getting the wrong message out of everything I try to do… but—”  
  
“Sammy,” Dean interrupts him, “I’m not pissed, man. I’m just saying — let’s finish this off once and for all. We’ve been tumbling the natural order for way too long. I think it’s time to do this now — to end it for good, and for one of us to be happy — I told you that before.” He turns to Agni before Sam can speak further. “You can take me. It’s a deal.”  
  
He then looks back at his younger brother and watches his mouth open once, and shut again, eyes growing wide and helpless, as Agni reaches a hand out to Dean, to get hold of him. Sam shakes his head. “No.”  
  
“You can do it, Sam,” Dean tells him softly. “You’ve saved the world once. You’ve survived that fucking wall, and then Lucifer in your head. You’re strong. You can do this.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Dean smiles at him. “Be good, okay? Or I’ll kick your ass from the other side.” Sam’s lip quivers and he shakes his head no.  
  
“Don’t make this difficult for me,” Dean says softly, and the calm exterior that he’s managed to maintain all this while begins to break. He swallows down a lump in his throat. “It’s the best way. You trust me, right?”  
  
A warm palm grasps at Dean’s arm, and Sam gives him a tiny nod, heartbreak written all over his face. Dean feels relief wash over him as he gives himself to the flames.

**~o~**

  
Sam can’t breathe. His stomach clenches, his throat closes up and his eyes threaten to water, but he grits his teeth as he watches Agni grasp Dean’s arm. This is not happening… Dean isn’t dying. No. Just… no. Not possible. He, Sam, won’t believe it.  
  
Dean looks peaceful as Agni grasps his other arm. His eyes are bright and he is smiling — never looking away from Sam, and Sam’s breath catches in his throat as an aura of bright light starts to surround Dean. It grows bigger and brighter — it’s silvery blue — and Dean’s a silhouette against it as it shimmers, so bright, that Sam has to shield his eyes with his forearm. He shivers as a wave of warmth runs through him, and finally, the light is gone.  
  
Sam uncovers his eyes, just on time to see Dean sway in his spot, pale-faced, and Sam rushes forward to grasp Dean by the shoulders and lower him to the ground. His elder brother is still smiling up at him as Sam lays him down. A trembling hand reaches up to pat Sam’s forearm once, before falling down, limp.  
  
“S-Sa-mmy.”  
  
It’s barely a whisper in the air — Dean’s last breath, and Sam thinks he knows the exact moment when Dean’s heart stops beating.   
  
Sam struggles to take in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, fighting against the hopelessness welling inside him as he kneels next to his brother. Dean is gone. Dean is dead. Yet again.  
  
He thinks he might go insane. He thinks he might go crazy. He wants to shake Dean and yell at him till his voice is hoarse. He wants to kick, punch, stomp at Dean till he’s bruised, and he wants to—  
  
 _Dean is dead._  
  
He let Dean die. He should have thought it through, before Dean said yes. He should have said something — maybe just knocked Dean out with a punch and — how many times is Dean going to die for him? When will this fucking vicious cycle come to an end?  
  
 _Dean is dead_.  
  
The three words echo through Sam’s head, over and over again, until he folds himself next to his brother, curling into a foetal position, hands in his hair, gripping the long strands tight, while his lips form the same words again and again.  
  
 _Dean is dead._  
  
Dean is dead, and now, Sam wants to die too.  
  
Because all he was, and always will be, is a fucking disappointment. Because all he can do in his life is hurt his elder brother like the selfish asshole that he is.  
  
But right now, he’s not going to let Dean’s sacrifice go in vain.  
  
Sam scrubs away the single tear that falls from his eye and sits up, taking one of the stakes that Dean has sharpened. He has a job to finish.


	6. Chapter 6

  
Sam sits alert under the tree, ears perked up, and stakes at the ready, waiting for Indrajalika to show up. He doesn’t know what she looks like, but he suspects he will recognise her when he sees her. At first, from what Agni said, he had thought that she’d get destroyed on her own once the deal was made, but since he’s not ‘awake’ and back at the bunker, he now thinks that Agni simply meant that Sam would be able to locate her and kill her. That is, if Agni hadn’t lied. Sam doesn’t, however, want to move from where he is, because that would mean leaving Dean behind, so he’s hoping she will show up here. If that doesn’t happen in a while, however, he plans to leave — as a last resort.   
  
He sees Dean before him, lifeless on the grass, lips in a small smile and eyes serenely shut. Sam would have paid anything to see Dean sleep like that, but Dean hasn’t slept well ever since he came back from Hell. And now, Sam realises with a lump in his throat, Dean isn’t just  _sleeping_.  
  
Sam knows just one thing. He has a single, clear plan of action. He’s going to refuse to get healed once Indrajalika is dead. Agni has taken away all the illness and disability that Sam has suffered in Indrajalika’s fake universe but out there, in his world, he knows he’s still sick, and he won’t let them take the sickness away. He’s plainly going to complete the trials, and follow his brother.  
  
Funny, he had never thought it would come to this — that he would actually do it. It’s not like he’s ever coped well whenever Dean died or disappeared on him before, but Sam always found something to live for. But now… there’s nothing. Amelia is gone — he let that go to hell and gave her a clear message about his commitment to her when he didn’t go to meet her at the motel room. He won’t go back to her now. She is with Don and he can’t think of disrupting her perfect life.  
  
Cas is gone too — in the wind, hiding a tablet — possibly dead — Sam doesn’t know. Dean’s been upset ever since Cas left like that and Sam never got to know about everything that happened on that day that they found the angel tablet, but he knows it wasn’t anything good. Anyway, it all boils down to the fact that Cas is gone.  
  
Sam just can’t think of trying to build a normal life again, or to go back to hunting without Dean. He’s sick and tired — literally and figuratively, and he wants this to end as much as Dean does. Except Dean — the bastard — always manages to worm his way out like this. So now, Sam’s alone again, but he isn’t going to stay alone anymore. He’s had enough.  
  
He sits like that for hours together. Indrajalika doesn’t come. No one ever appears.  
  
At night, Sam builds a fire and tries calling out to Agni, but gets no response. He decides then that he will go looking for Indrajalika in the morning, after a good night’s sleep. Unfortunately, sleep doesn’t come to him for a long time. He is dehydrated and restless. He just sits about with Dean’s corpse for company, and he feels that he should probably cremate his brother, but he can’t get himself to do it yet. He feels numb inside — like there’s a huge hole in him, and at times the numbness gives away to pain — pain so intense that he has to clutch his chest and bend over, clenching his eyes shut. It’s unbearable, horrible… and Sam doesn’t want that pain anymore. It makes him not want to feel. It makes him want to die.  
  
In the morning, though, he’s sick again. He realises then, with a jolt, that Agni tricked him. He is going to die here, just the way he is and if that isn’t enough, Dean had to face a pointless death too.   
  
Currently, Sam’s voice is gone, and he’s coughing like he was before. His legs are back to being paralysed and his head hurts and stomach churns. It feels like every muscle in his body is cramping. He can feel a fever burn through him and he shivers, curling into himself and drawing Dean’s jacket closer around his own.  
  
His chest hurts again as he runs his fingers through Dean’s jacket. He knows what Rajni said — that if Dean is dead here, he’s dead in the real world, but he doesn’t want to believe her. He hopes that she was lying about this — just the way she lied about the fact that she wanted to help them. He wants to have been trapped in a dream, and he wants to see Dean again when he wakes up, in that room of his, with all the ammo arranged neatly and their mom’s photo beside the lampshade.  
  
… Actually, he’d like a copy of that photo. He can’t have enough photos of Mom.  
  
He should tell Dean about this.  
  
 _Dean is dead._  
  
The mantra from yesterday repeats itself in his head, and an ache sears through him. It’s far worse than physical — it burns him like nothing else, and he grits his teeth against it, his throat constricting painfully as his breath hitches. Through his barely open eyes, he watches the tree in front of him double, and then tremble, and he blinks, letting the tear fall, droplets clinging on to his eyelashes. Then he brings up a shaky hand and wipes his eye on the back of his palm. His lips quiver, and sobs threaten to erupt.  
  
He doesn’t know how to feel. He doesn’t know what to do.  
  
 _Dean is dead. Dean is dead. Dean is dead._  
  
He welcomes the blackness that comes with those thoughts.

**~o~**

  
Sam wakes up to the feel of a soft palm against his cheek.  
  
 _Mom?_  
  
He remembers her face — a face he’s known only from photos, nonetheless, a face he has loved like nothing else. She’s smiling, her blond hair catching glints of the sunlight as the wind blows it over. “Sam.”  
  
Her voice isn’t like he remembers it — from Dean’s memories in Heaven or his own hallucinations, so he frowns. She runs a hand down his cheeks and strokes his hair. “Open your eyes, honey.”  
  
Sam’s eyes fly open at once. He is lying supine, on the forest floor, the grass tickling the parts of his body that still have sensation. His head is cushioned by something soft, and a warm palm rests on his cheek. His vision is blurred and his whole body hurts. His chest is searing with pain and a sense of hopelessness fills him up — the same sadness from before seeps into his senses and his mind. He takes a deep breath.   
  
“Sam,” says the voice. He squints up to see that he’s lying on a woman’s lap. She’s robed in green and brown, and her hair runs in a long braid. She looks as old as his mom, but she isn’t his mom. Instead, her face reminds him of Rajni and Praatha.   
  
Panic flares inside his mind. Who is this?  
  
In one motion, he tries to get up, but she holds him down. “I won’t harm you, child,” she murmurs. Something about her is very homely. Very… motherly. Sam swallows down a lump in his throat as she smiles. “You have won it.”  
  
“What?” his voice is a whisper — there’s barely any sound. He doesn’t trust this woman. Rajni and Praatha lied; Agni lied, and this lady is lying too. She wants to kill him. Alarms are set off all over Sam’s body, and he wants to get up and run. Except, he knows his legs aren’t working.  
  
“I am Bhumi,” the woman says calmly. “The Earth Goddess.”  
  
Goddess? Sam wracks his head. What culture is this from? He can’t remember her from any of his past research.  
  
“Earth is one of the five basic elements,” Bhumi explains in a soft voice.  
  
Five? There are four, aren’t there?  
  
Bhumi starts to chant in a low voice, in a language that Sam doesn’t recognise. The chanting doesn’t have a tune, but she says it in a unique tone, voice pitching up and down, and something about the way she chants is beautiful and mesmerising.  
  
“ _Aakashath vayu, Vayur agni, Agner aapah,_  
 _Adbhyah prithvi, Prithivya oshadhayah_  
 _Oshadhibhoh annam, Annath purushah.”_  
  
She stops there, with a smile, and starts to explain. “The sky — or the void, was created first, followed by air. And then fire appeared, only to be defeated by the next element — water. All of this, together, formed the earth as it is now. The earth bore medicine and food, both of which aid survival. Hence, life started, and along came humankind.” Bhumi pauses, a smile playing at her lips. “There are five elements — the  _Panchamahabhuta_. They comprise of the earth, air, water, fire and void. And the person who can make these elements manifest is blessed with eternal youth, health and life.”  
  
Sam still can’t get up from his place, so he just stares at the deity, drinking in her words and wondering what role he has in this. Slowly, Bhumi backs away and lets Sam sit up, but he still can’t run, so he remains where he is, just hoping for death to come quickly and painlessly.  
  
Suddenly, a cool breeze blows over him, ruffling his hair and causing goosebumps to arise all over. He narrows his eyes and looks at Bhumi who stands up, still smiling, as around her, three other figures start to materialise, finally revealing themselves as men. They’re robed in different colours, but they all look similar and Sam blinks, trying to figure out what to do. That’s when one of them speaks — and he has a familiar voice.  
  
“Thank you,” he says in a soft voice.  
  
Agni? Sam recognises the voice very well, and he glares at the man who has just spoken, betrayal and anger clouding his senses. Agni had tricked him… lied to him.  
  
“I did not trick you,” Agni says, as if he can read Sam’s mind. “You will be sent back to your world very soon.”  
  
Sam still doesn’t have a voice to speak, so he turns away angrily. That’s when the other man beside Agni speaks. “Indrajalika has trapped us in a curse. You are the one who can free us.”  
  
Sam’s attention is diverted back to the people before him. Why would Indrajalika trap these people? It doesn’t make sense.   
  
The man beside Agni introduces himself. “I am Vayu. The god of the Wind.”  
  
“And I am Varun,” the fourth man says, “The Water God.”  
  
“I represent Fire,” Agni adds softly. There is compassion in his eyes, and Sam hates that look. He doesn’t want anyone’s pity. He just wants his brother back. Sam narrows his eyes, but Agni speaks on. “Indrajalika asked for a wish from Shiva. She wanted to control us — the  _Panchamahabhuta_.”   
  
 _Shiva_. Sam knows this. Shiva — the Destroyer. A Hindu god. Suddenly, it all makes sense. The strange language, the bones, the names, polytheism, and the concept of life after birth. It all clicks together.  
  
“Gaining control of the  _Panchamahabhuta_  makes you immortal,” Bhumi explains softly to Sam. “When Indrajalika asked for the wish, Shiva granted it to her — but not entirely, because human beings are not supposed to be immortal. It’s against the rules of nature.  
  
“So Shiva granted the wish with one condition — that Indrajalika would have to relinquish control and embrace death at some point. He predicted that she would lose her powers to a person who would have made an ultimate sacrifice in the past, and will be ready to make another if the need arises.”  
  
Sam ponders for a moment, even more pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. “And that person is… me?” His voice is hoarse and barely audible. Bhumi leans over and touches his forehead at that moment, and he feels like his throat has cleared up. His whole body feels light, and he feels all the illness and disability drain away, as he stands up, facing the deities before him.  
  
“Yes, that person is you,” Bhumi replies to his question as she straightens up. “You have sacrificed yourself to the world before, and you did it again — you gave up what is most valuable to you — your family.”  
  
Sam grits his teeth. “I didn’t  _sacrifice_  Dean. You manipulated me! My brother shouldn’t have died — after everything—”   
  
Anger rises in him like a cobra, quiet, slow and powerful. He can’t believe this. Why is everything in his life pre-planned, postulated by someone? Why can’t he have his own destiny and be a normal person? Why is he always part of a huge plan in motion, in which either he or Dean has to die? Is this always fucking necessary?  
  
“I want my brother back,” says Sam quietly, narrowing his eyes at the goddess. “Bring. Him. Back.”  
  
“To defeat Indrajalika—”  
  
“I don’t care about this fucking  _Indrajalika_ , okay?” Sam explodes at her. “I was never involved in this! I  _never_  wanted in!”  
  
“But you can win,” Bhumi insists. “Indrajalika is only as strong as a regular human now. She still has control over us, but she hasn’t got our powers. Once you kill Indrajalika, you will hold our powers. You’ll never get ill, never grow old—”  
  
“I don’t want any of that!” Sam snaps. “Bring my brother back. I don’t care how you do it.”  
  
She sighs. “We cannot resurrect people just like that.”  
  
“Yeah?” Sam retorts, crossing his arms. “Who is responsible for him being dead in the first place?!”  
  
Bhumi is still calm. “No, that is not the problem, Sam. It’s not that we lack the abilities. We are bound to Indrajalika as of now. She has imprisoned us. But since you’ve made us manifest, you can win — you’ve got power over her. Once you kill her, we will be free, and we can grant you your health back — or your brother, if that’s what you want. Unfortunately, we cannot grant both, so you must choose one.”  
  
“I don’t care about my health,” Sam mutters, “but you have to bring Dean back.”  
  
“Then we will do that,” she says, “trust me.”  
  
“Yeah,” he scoffs. “That’s exactly what I can’t do.”  
  
Bhumi sighs. “You haven’t got anything to lose, Sam, only everything to gain. Indrajalika has killed many men and women — mistaking each for you — thinking that he or she might defeat her. She was burned by her townspeople, but she cursed her bones and kept them around. She built her own universe, and she has been luring people into this trap for millions of years. You can end this. Is this not what you do in the real world?”  
  
Sam licks his lips. She’s right. Saving people is one of the things that he and Dean have always believed in. It’s not like anyone will find those bones now, but Charlie knows where they live, and what if she comes back? What if Cas manages to locate the bunker? This might be a small thing, but if he can stop it, he might as well go ahead and do it, and free these deities, at the very least.  
  
He takes a deep breath, and turns to Bhumi. “Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll kill Indrajalika.”

**~o~**

  
Sam can feel the bumps on the uneven wood as he fingers the stake that he is holding. A bird is singing somewhere, and he can hear insects whizzing past. Apart from that, there is no sound. Behind him, Bhumi, Vayu, Agni and Varun stand quietly, gazing at him, ready to bear witness to the fight that is about to ensue. The fact that Indrajalika is just like a regular human now makes Sam uncomfortable. He really hates killing  _people_ , so he just hopes that this will be quick.  
  
He sighs and hears his own breath make its way out of his mouth. He just wants to be finished with this and get out of this place. He just wants Dean to be alive again. He’s done with his fate and his destiny. Someone out there planned a shitty life for him and he’s done bearing the brunt of that.  
  
He thinks of the release that the final trial is bound to grant him. A few months ago when he had done the first trial, he had done it with the determination to live through it — to see the end. But now, he looks forward to death. It’s an escape from the pain and suffering that he has undergone for so long. And if the final trial will kill him, then so be it.  
  
The birds suddenly stop singing, and Sam’s heart misses a beat. The silence is sinister at best and is killed when the sound of chinking anklets fills the air. Goosebumps rise all over Sam’s body when he realises that the sound is familiar — he knows what it means now. And he watches as Rajni emerges from the gap between the trees, slinking slowly towards him, her eyes glinting a feral orange, and a smile playing at her lips.  
  
“Sam,” she says huskily, walking steadily towards him. He smells the jasmines, and they make him want to throw up. He backs away a step, stake at the ready.  
  
She sees him and clucks her tongue. “I never wanted to hurt you or Dean, you know. But now you’re just asking for it.”  
  
He swallows. “You’re… Indrajalika.”  
  
She laughs — a high, clear laugh, which is beautiful and terrible to Sam’s ears, all at the same time. “You’re right,” she says, “I’m Indrajalika. And Rajni… and Praatha. I’m far more powerful than you are,  _Sammy_!”  
  
“Don’t you dare call me that!” Sam bellows, gritting his teeth in anger.  
  
“Aw,” she says in fake sympathy, “missing big brother Dean, are we?”  
  
“I’m going to kill you,” Sam snarls at her, raising the stake, and taking a step sideways.  
  
“Really?” she asks him, putting her hands behind her back. “Let me see how you do it.”  
  
Sam grips his weapon tighter and charges towards Indrajalika, one hand reaching forward to hold her steady. She dodges but he turns and grabs her by her shoulder, fingernails digging into her flesh. Her terrible scent hits his nostrils again and he gags a little. She snarls and raises an arm to attack him but his leg goes up, to stomp at her stomach. And then he lets her go.  
  
She falters backwards and Sam steps ahead, but he underestimates her. She lunges at him and pushes him to the ground. He falls with a huge thump, the soft grass doing little to cushion him. The stake rolls away from his hand. And, before he knows it, Indrajalika is on top of him. She smiles. “You lost.”  
  
“You wish,” he says, eyeing the stake, which is now out of reach. How is he going to grasp it in time? He can see the deities watching, but he knows that they cannot interfere with the fight, because they’re still bound to Indrajalika.  
  
Meanwhile, the enchantress starts to undo her white robe and she loosely holds it against her breasts as she comes down to whisper in his ear, “ _Marmamaya—_ ”   
  
Sam turns over and traps her underneath him, interrupting her from completing the incantation. Her hand slips from her dress, revealing full breasts, but Sam doesn’t look — he pins her down harshly, feeling her small, strong body struggle, as he reaches for the stake.  
  
His fingers are inches away from it. He can feel Indrajalika writhing under him, her sharp, talon-like nails scratching at him desperately as he stretches forward, before finally feeling the wood at his fingertips. He inches it closer until he is able to grip it. Her hand reaches for it too, but he is too quick for her and in one go, he grasps the stake and raises it, before bringing it straight down into Indrajalika’s heart.  
  
Her breath hitches and the ever-present smile on her face disappears. Her eyes become a deeper shade of orange — like fire — and she lets out a roaring scream. Her teeth turn into fangs, her hair loses its colour, and her skin wrinkles and turns a sickly shade of yellow. Sam takes out the stake and stabs her again — and again, and many times, until she lets out a gurgling sound and falls quiet.  
  
She stops moving under him. He can feel the warmth start to leave her, and her chest stops rising for breaths. When he looks down at her she looks like a fanged old lady, and all her beauty is gone, as dark, blank eyes stare up at him. But, Sam thinks, as he draws out the stake from her chest, she was never beautiful. Such people can never be beautiful.  
  
He gets up from his place, only to see the four deities advance towards him, their faces bright and happy, and he smiles — tries to feel good about it, but he can’t. He lets all the four deities place fingers to his forehead, one-by-one, and they thank him and advise him to sleep, promising him that when he next opens his eyes, he will be in the bunker, and Dean will be alive. But he will have to take the sickness that the trials are causing — since he traded his health for his brother.  
  
Sam doesn’t care. He is just happy that Dean is going to be back, alive and kicking. As he lies down on the grass, though, a strange sensation presses against his chest — and he feels his throat constrict again. He looks at the empty forest around him — this trap that is Indrajalika’s world, and he realises how truly alone he is. A tear slips out of his eye, and then another, and before long Sam is mourning things that he can’t count on his fingers anymore. He mourns the fact that nothing in his life is under his control — that he has a million people who have decided his fate, and a brother who won’t let him die. He grieves for all the sacrifices that he’s expected to make for this world — the same world that considers him a freak and ostracises him so completely.  
  
He doesn’t wipe away the tears that finally put him to sleep.

**~o~**

  
There is no sunlight in his eyes when Sam comes to. He pulls his blankets closer around himself and his stomach rumbles from hunger. His throat feels swollen and irritated and his whole body feels as though it’s on fire. He coughs, and though his vision is blurry when he opens his eyes, he can see the droplets of blood on his white pillow.   
  
The sight of the blood brings him unexpected relief. He’s  _finally_  home.  
  
Immediately, Sam gets to his feet, stumbles a little and runs to the adjacent room, but he doesn’t need to knock to hear Dean stirring inside. His brother opens the door, surprised when he sees Sam outside.  
  
“Dude!” he exclaims happily, “I’m alive!”  
  
Sam smiles wholeheartedly. “Yeah, you are.”

**~o~**

  
Dean is very appreciative that Sam killed Indrajalika under all those circumstances, but he is also pissed when he finds out about Sam trading his health for Dean’s life. Sam lets him be angry, and revels in his brother’s insane brotherly worries. He hopes that once he dies, Dean can manage to find a normal life for himself. Sam knows that he’s the one holding his brother back from normal, and that once he’s gone, Dean will be able to move on. There will be grief, but that will only last a while in its full force, until Dean learns how to adjust without Sam.  
  
All Sam hopes is for Dean to not think up of another new and ridiculous idea to bring Sam back from the dead this time.  
  
They discuss Indrajalika, and Sam tells Dean about everything that the deities told him. Together, they burn Indrajalika’s bones, and they behave like regular bones this time, except that the smoke from them emits a strong scent of jasmines, causing both Sam and Dean to walk away, gagging, and wait for the odour to die down. Sam promises himself not to even look at anything jasmine-scented in the near future.  
  
He sits for research later on, and tries to work out the spell that Indrajalika used to entrance him and Dean. Bhumi had provided it to him when he had asked her after the fight, and he remembers it. He also knows now that the words were in Sanskrit so he finds a Sanskrit dictionary online and types the words, one word each, to find out the meaning.  
  
He finds out then that _‘Marmamaya vadeh meh’_  translates directly to ‘tell me your secrets’.  
  
Sam realises that it explains a lot. Indrajalika needed their secrets — she needed to know about their past. And she got to that by her own means — sex, which in true sense, is stripping yourself of your innermost secrets, and laying it bare to your partner. The game of life — she played well, Sam thinks, and he is sure that if he hadn’t met the deities, he would have died too. He finds himself impressed by Indrajalika’s strength and cunning.  
  
He also finds out about some other things in the forest. He understands why he was attacked in the way he was, and why he got sick in Indrajalika’s world. She controlled the five gods, and the gods were elements.  She had been using the five elements to attack Sam.   
  
The crocodile belonged to Varun, the water deity, and Varun was bound under Indrajalika to attack the person who touched her bones. That is why only Sam was affected by the crocodile.  
  
The general sickness he had experienced was due to the god Vayu. Vayu, Sam finds out, is made up of five components:  _Praana_ , which is basic life sustenance (his breath stolen by coughing);  _Apaana_ , which controls the excretory system (the flank pain from his failing kidneys);  _Udaana_ , involving the vocal cords and the higher functions (the delirium and loss of his voice);  _Samaana_ , which is involved in food digestion (the nausea and puking); and  _Vyaana_ , which is responsible for the voluntary movements of the body (the paralysis and seizure attack). Each and every kind of bodily dysfunction he faced could be explained by the five components of the deity Vayu, and once again he knows that Indrajalika played well.  
  
The god Bhumi was responsible for the poisoned pomegranates. Traditionally, Bhumi is represented with a pomegranate in one hand. She is responsible for food and medicine. Also, the antidote that Indrajalika gave Sam and Dean was real — she did it because she wanted to gain their trust.  
  
The god Agni is a form of purity and sacrifice, so Sam had to give in to a sacrifice in the end. However, Indrajalika had not used Agni against Sam. At least, not at the time when Agni had appeared to him and Dean, asking for a sacrifice.  
  
As it turns out, in order to break the spell, each element had to exist within Sam at some point. Indrajalika, who had thought everything through, hadn’t realised this, but it all boiled down to the fact that all five elements were in Sam when he had defeated her. It looks like the gods saw their release and took their own initiative towards the end.  
  
Sam can find an explanation for everything, except for the void. He wonders where the void came in. He doesn’t find anything on the web. He thinks about it, and he ponders for a whole day, until it finally hits him.  
  
Void was what he experienced when his brother was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Epilogue**

  
Life returns to normal — at least as normal as it can get for Sam and Dean. Sam explains most of the things to his brother, but he holds back the theory about the void. Dean is surprised and enraged at Indrajalika for the way she manipulated her powers to attack his younger brother, but the siblings agree that the plan had been effective.  
  
Sam is sick again, but in a different way from Indrajalika’s world. He is feverish and delirious most of the time and Dean has to beg him and coax him to eat. Most of the time Sam refuses. Dean doesn’t give up on him, though. It sucks and everything hurts like hell and Sam wants to give up every time he has a coughing fit, but Dean is there and Dean makes sure he holds on. And Sam holds on, because he knows that Dean is there — that Dean will always be there, no matter what.  
  
Sam doesn’t allow himself to think of the brief period that he spent thinking that he had lost his brother permanently. Sometimes it comes back to him, and he can physically feel the pain — the  _void_ , but he ignores it, and gets back to work. Dean is back, and he, Sam, needn’t pity himself anymore.   
  
The one time when this all becomes too overwhelming, Sam is doing inventory again. Memories from Indrajalika’s world come back to him and he keeps it together for some time, willing himself to calm down, until he can’t anymore, so he gets up and goes to find Dean.  
  
Dean is in his room, arranging his ammo when Sam finds him, and without preamble, Sam pulls his brother into a hug. Dean struggles for a minute, confused, but then Sam feels his brother’s arms around him, and it feels good.  
  
Sam may never have had a real roof over his head until now, but Dean is his definition of home. And until Dean is there, Sam will always feel safe. So he just lets himself sink into his brother’s embrace, and soaks in all the warmth and comfort he can get.   
  


 


	8. Chapter 8

 

**End Notes**

  
Okay, that’s that! Thank you for reading the story. Hope you enjoyed it!  
  
So these notes — they’re basically just to talk about some things mentioned in the fic, which I didn’t explain at that point, and the sources/credit for the art. Thank you so, so much for staying with me up until now! :)  
  
 **Names**  
  
I took a leaf out of JK Rowling’s book when it came to naming my original characters. Hehe.  
  
Indrajalika: Literally means ‘enchantress’.  
  
Rajni (R-uh-j-knee): Means ‘night’.  
  
Praatha (Pr-aa-th-uh): Means 'day'.  
  
Rajni and Praatha are the same person, but with them, I wanted to express the power of Indrajalika’s magical abilities. I always intended Rajni to be a little more seductive, and a little more sexy and Praatha to seem slightly more trustworthy and open. Hence the names.  
  
 **Sanskrit**  
  
I wish I could say I was that good at Sanskrit, but I haven’t learned the language in itself. Like Sam, I found an online dictionary to help me, which can be found [here](http://spokensanskrit.de/index.php?script=HK&beginning=0+&tinput=&trans=Translate&direction=AU).  
  
Regarding the chanting, what Indrajalika chants in the beginning is a part of the Shiva Suktam, basically a verse sung in praise of Shiva. What Bhumi chanted in the end is a part of the Brahmananda Valli, belonging to the Taittiriya Upanishad, a part of the Yajur Veda. I know both these verses very well, and they’re actually my favourites from the whole Vedic texts. I was absolutely thrilled to be able to use them here.  
  
 **Hinduism**  
  
A Yuga is an epoch. There are four Yugas — the Satya Yuga, Dwapara Yuga, Treta Yuga and Kali Yuga. It is said that we’re currently in the Kali Yuga, the era of sin.  
  
I also want to clarify that what Sam thinks of Hinduism — that it’s a polytheistic religion, is wrong. But I put it in anyway because very few people know that Hinduism is actually pantheistic, and not polytheistic. Many Hindus still don’t know this, and I didn’t reckon Sam would know either.  
  
Hinduism believes in life after death. Another belief in Hinduism is that God exists in everyone (explained by what we call the conscience, or the soul). The belief states that we’re all rivers, joining a large ocean and when you’ve finished your cycle of rebirths — when you’ve died and attained true salvation, you become one with the universe — which is God, or the Supreme Soul.   
  
The concept of God existing in everyone is what initiated the concept of saying ‘namaste’. You join your hands and bow down, not to the person, but to the part of God in them.  
  
Also — some things they messed up in the show, which I want to explain to anyone who reads this. First of all, they showed Kali as a promiscuous woman. While I have no problem with women being promiscuous or having a healthy sexual appetite, Kali is actually an incarnation of Parvati, who is the wife of Shiva. Together, they represent spousal fidelity, and it was a huge lack of research on part of the writers to portray Kali Ma like that. Also, Hinduism is a vegetarian culture.  The gods sure as hell don’t eat human beings for soup. In fact, Ganesha is known to live on a diet of ‘obstacles’ as we explain to children — as in, he eats away our troubles.  
  
Needless to say, my religious sentiments were very hurt by that particular episode.  
  
 **Art**  
  
Finally, the sources. Hehe.  
  
Pictures:  
  
I cut out Sam and Dean from caps from Pac Man Fever (episode 8.20), which I got from [homeofthenutty](http://www.homeofthenutty.com/supernatural/screencaps/).  
  
For Rajni and Praatha, I used Bipasha Basu, an Indian actress. All the pictures were from Google Images.  
  
Shiva’s symbol — the three lines of ash and the third eye, is from Google Images.  
  
The forest background is from a stock image set I downloaded, provided by wyldraven on [TDA](http://www.the-dark-arts.net/). The pattern over it is by Katibear from TDA.  
  
Textures:  
  
The textures are by [crazykira](http://crazykira-resources.deviantart.com/) on deviantART.  
  
Font:  
  
Schluber and Rage Italic, both from [Dafont](http://www.dafont.com/) .  
  
Brushes:  
  
I’ve lost my file with the sources on them, and remember just three: Anime Rain, Aethreality, and Jenni the Pirate. If anyone recognises where the others are from, please let me know!

 

 

 

**~o~**

  
And with that, I’d like to thank you again for reading this fic. I hope it didn’t disappoint, and I hope you will come back for more of my stuff. Thank you!


End file.
